GEORGE   SANDYS   NOVELS 


J)«nlip  tihtKxv  ^riitian 


THE  MILLER  OF  ANGIBAULT 


THE  MILLER  OF 
ANGIBAULT 


BY 


GEORGE    SAND 


BOSTON 
LITTLE,  BROWN 
AND    COMPANY 


Copyright,  1871, 
By  Roberts  Brothers. 


Copyright,  1899, 
By  Little,  Brown,  and  Company. 


John  Wilson  and  Son,  Cambridge,  U.S.A. 


^^. 


s 


CONTENTS. 


CHAP.  PAGE 

I.    Introduction 1 

II.     The  Journey 12 

III.  The  Mendicant 22 

IV.  The  Morass 29 

V.     The  Mill 34 

VI.     A  Name  on  a  Tree 40 

VII.     Blanchemont 51 

VIII.     The  Parvenu  Peasant 61 

IX.     An  Unexpected  Friend 71 

X.     Correspondence 77 

XI.     Dinner  at  the  Farm 87 

XII.     Castles  in  the  Air.        V       .         .        .        .93 

XIII.  Rose 101 

XIV.  Marcelle 108 

XV.     The  Rencontre 119 

XVI.     Diplomacy 126 

XVII.     The  Ford  of  the  Vauvre       ....  133 

XVIII.     Henri 142 

XIX.     A  Portrait 157 

XX.     Love  and  Money      ......  160 

XXI.     The  Mill-boy 173 

XXII.     By  the  Water-side 179 

XXIII.     Cadoche 189 

(V) 

226396 


VI 


CONTENTS. 


CHAP.  PACK 

XXIV.  Thb  Maniac 201 

XXV.  Sophie 211 

XXVI.  The  Eve  of  the  FfiiB 221 

XXVII.  The  Cabin 232 

XXVIII.  The  F^te 241 

XXIX.  The  Two  Sisters 252 

XXX.  The  Contbact 260 

XXXI.  An  After-thought 267 

XXXII.  The  Patachon 274 

XXXIII.  The  Will 285 

XXXIV.  Disaster 296 

XXXV.  A  Rupture 305 

XXXVI.  The  Chapel 312 

XXXVn.  Conclusion     .......  315 


CHAPTER    I. 

INTRODUCTION. 

/^NE  hour  after  midnight  rang  from  St.  Thomas 
^-^  d'Aquin,  as  a  dark,  slender  figure  rapidly  glided 
beneath  the  high  and  shadowy  wall  of  one  of  the  fine 
gardens  still  found  in  Paris,  on  the  left  bank  of  the  Seine, 
The  night  was  warm  and  serene.  A  delicate  fragrance 
breathed  from  the  flowering  daturas,  which  stood  in  the 
light  of  the  full  moon  like  tall,  white  spectres.  There 
was  an  air  of  ancient  splendor  about  the  broad  flight  of 
steps  leading  up  to  the  Hotel  de  Blanchemont ;  and  tlie 
apparent  opulence  of  the  mansion,  dark  and  silent  as  it 
now  rose  against  the  moonlight,  was  enhancefl  by  the 
extent  and  beauty  of  the  surrounding  garden. 

But  the  brilliant  moonlight  was  not  quite  agreeable  to 
the  young  woman  in  mourning,  who  took  her  way,  by  the 
darkest  alleys,  to  a  little  door  placed  at  the  extremity  of 
the  wall.  Nevertheless,  she  went  resolutely  on,  for  it  was 
not  the  first  time  she  had  risked  her  reputation  for  the 
sake  of  a  love,  always  pure,  and  henceforth  legitimate, — 
she  had  been  a  widow  now  for  a  month. 

She  took  advantage  of  a  shadowing  clump  of  acacias 
to  reach,  unperceived,  the  little  private  door,  which  opened 
on  a  narrow  and  unfrequented  street.  Almost  at  the 
same  moment  the  door  turned  on  its  hinges,  and  the  per- 
son she  had  summoned  entered  softly,  and  followed  liis 
mistress,  in  silence,  to  a  small  summer-house.  But,  as 
soon  as  the   door   was  closed,   the  young  baroness  of 


i:\,:     T'i^'B.  mi<i!iER  of  angibault. 

y.^BIgpnfcbomoQt,;  frpjr  j^mjtipfitive  modesty,  taking  from  her 
pocket  a  pretty  little  Russia  leather  box,  drew  a  match, 
and  lighted  a  candle,  which  seemed  to  have  been  hidden 
beforehand  in  a  comer,  while  the  young  man,  in  a  simple, 
timid,  and  respectful  manner,  assisted  her  in  dispelling 
the  darkness  of  the  room.  He  was  so  happy  to  see  her 
again ! 

The  summer-house  was  closed  with  large  wooden  shut- 
ters. It  may  have  been  the  voluptuous  retreat  of  some 
marquise  of  the  old  regime ;  but  the  only  furniture  and 
light  left  to  the  now  deserted  boudoir  consisted  of  a  rustic 
bench,  a  few  empty  boxes,  some  gardening  tools,  and  the 
little  taper,  with  no  better  candlestick  than  a  broken 
flower-pot. 

Marcelle,  the  fair  descendant  of  its  former  occupants, 
was  dressed  with  the  simplicity  and  decorum  befitting  a 
modest  widow.  Her  only  ornament  was  the  beautiful 
golden  hair,  which  fell  over  her  black  crape  collar.  But 
for  the  delicacy  of  her  alabaster  hands,  and  of  her  satin- 
slippered  foot,  which  alone  betrayed  her  aristocratic  hab- 
its, she  might  have  been  taken  for  the  natural  companion, 
in  rank,  of  the  man  now  kneeling  by  her  side  —  for  a 
Parisian  grisette.  There  are  grisettes  with  brows  of 
queenly  dignity  and  of  saintly  grace. 

Henri  Lemor  had  an  agreeable  face,  but  intelligent 
and  striking  rather  than  handsome.  It  was  dark  and 
pale,  and  shadowed  by  abundant  black  hair.  It  was 
easy  to  see  that  he  was  a  true  Parisian  —  strong  through 
will,  delicate  by  organization.  His  dress,  neat  and 
modest,  betokened  humble  circumstances ;  his  ill-tied 
cravat  showed  an  entire  absence  of  foppery,  or  habitual 
preoccupation  of  mind ;  his  brown  gloves  were  enough 
to  prove  that  he  was  not,  as  the  Blanchemont  servants 
would  have  phrased  it,  a  "suitable"  man  to  be  the  lover 
or  husband  of  their  lady. 

These  two  young  people,  scarcely  older  the  one  than 
the  other,  had  more  than  once  held  tender  interviews  in 
the  summer-house  during  the  mysterious  hours  of  night ; 
but  within  a  month,  that  they  had  not  met,  deep  anxiety 
had  darkened  the  romance  of  their  love.     Henri  Lemor 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT.  3 

was  dismayed  and  trembling ;  Marcelle  de  Blanehemont 
seemed  frozen  with  fear.  He  knelt  before  her  as  if  to 
thank  her  for  having  granted  him  a  last  meeting  ;  but  he 
soon  rose  without  speaking,  and  his  manner  was  con- 
strained, and  almost  cold. 

"  At  last !  "  she  made  an  effort  to  say,  and  reached 
him  her  hand.  He  carried  it  to  his  lips  with  a  convul- 
sive movement,  but  no  gleam  of  joy  appeared  upon  his 
countenance. 

"  He  loves  me  no  more,"  thought  she,  pressing  both 
her  hands  upon  her  eyes ;  and  she  remained  mute,  and 
stiffened  with  dread. 

''^At  last?  "  repeated  Lemor.  "  Is  it  not  so  soon  that 
you  would  say?  I  ought  to  have  had  strength  to  wait 
longer.     It  was  wanting  —  forgive  me  !  " 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,"  said  the  young  widow, 
letting  her  hands  fall  dejectedly. 

Lemor  saw  her  tearful  eyes,  and  mistook  the  cause  of 
her  emotion. 

"Oh  yes!"  he  resumed;  "I  am  to  blame;  I  see,  by 
your  grief,  the  remorse  I  cause  you.  These  four  weeks 
have  seemed  to  me  so  long,  that  I  had  not  the  courage  to 
tell  myself  they  were  too  tew !  Yet  I  had  sci^rcely  writ- 
ten to  you  this  morning  to  ask  leave  to  see  you,  when  I 
repented.  I  blushed  for  my  own  cowardice,  I  reproached 
myself  for  the  scruples  of  conscience  I  was  forcing  you 
to  stifle  ;  and  when  I  received  your  calm,  sweet  answer, 
I  saw  that  you  recalled  me  from  pity  alone." 

"  Oh,  Henri,  how  you  pain  me  by  speaking  so  !  Is  it 
jest,  or  pretext?  Why  ask  to  see  me,  if  you  return 
with  so  little  happiness  and  confidence?" 

The  young  man  started,  and  throwing  himself  again 
at  her  feet  — 

"  I  had  rather  meet  your  pride  and  your  reproaches," 
cried  he  ;  "  your  kindness  kills  me  !  " 

"Henri!  Henri!"  cried  Marcelle,  "you  have,  then, 
been  false  to  me?  Oh,  you  do  look  guilty!  You  have 
forgotten  me,  or  slighted  me  —  I  see  it  too  well !  " 

"  Neither,  neither  ;  to  my  eternal  grief,  I  revere  you, 


4  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT, 

I  adore  you,  I  believe  in  you  as  I  do  in  God  —  I  love 
only  you  on  this  earth  ! " 

"Ah,  well  then!"  said  the  young  woman,  throwing 
her  arms  around  the  poor  fellow's  dark  head,  "it  is  not 
so  great  a  misfortune  to  love  me  thus,  since  I  love  you  in 
the  same  way.  Listen,  Henri !  I  am  now  free,  and  I 
have  nothing  with  which  to  reproach  myself.  So  little 
did  I  desire  the  death  of  my  husband,  that  I  have  never 
permitted  myself  to  imagine  what  I  would  do  with  my 
liberty,  were  it  restored  to  me.  You  know  we  have  never 
spoken  of  this,  you  knew  that  I  loved  you  passionately, 
and  yet  this  is  the  first  time  that  I  have  uttered  it  I  But 
how  pale  you  are,  my  friend  !  your  hands  are  icy — you 
seem  in  great  pain  !     You  frighten  me  !" 

"  No,  no !  speak  on,  speak  on ! "  answered  Lemor, 
yielding  to  the  force  of  emotions  at  once  most  sweet  and 
distressing. 

"Well !"  continued  Mme.  de  Blanchemont,  "it  is  im- 
possible for  me  to  feel  the  conscientious  scruples  and  dis- 
tress which  you  dread  for  me.  When  the  bloody  corpse 
of  my  husband,  killed  in  a  duel  for  another  woman,  was 
brought  to  me,  I  own  that  I  was  struck  with  horror  and 
consternation  ;  I  believed  it  my  duty,  when  sending  you  the 
terrible  news,  to  bid  you  remain  for  a  certain  time  absent 
from  me ;  oh,  if  it  were  a  crime  to  feel  that  time  very 
long,  I  have  been  sufficiently  punished  by  your  scrupulous 
obedience  !  But  during  this  month  of  seclusion,  while  I 
have  been  occupied  solely  with  the  care  of  my  boy,  and 
with  doing  my  utmost  to  console  M.  de  Blanchemont's 
parents,  I  have  carefully  examined  my  heart,  and  I  do  not 
find  it  guilty.  I  could  not  love  that  man.  He  never  loved 
me ;  and  all  that  I  could  do  was  to  respect  his  honor. 
Now,  Henri,  I  owe  nothing  to  his  memory,  but  an  ex- 
ternal respect  to  decorum.  I  must  see  you  in  secret,  and 
seldom,  till  the  end  of  my  mourning ;  but  in  a  year,  in 
two  years,  if  necessary — '* 

"Well,  Marcelle!  in  two  years?" 

"  You  ask  me  what  we  shall  be  to  one  another,  Henri  ? 
You  love  me  no  longer — I  told  you  so !" 

Henri  deserved  this  reproach  too  little  to  be  moved  by 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT,  5 

it.  Anxiously  attentive  to  every  word  of  his  mistress,  he 
entreated  her  to  continue. 

'*  Well,"  she  resumed,  blushing  like  a  young  girl,  "  do 
you  not  wish  to  marry  me  then,  Henri?" 

Henri  let  his  head  sink  upon  Marcelle's  lap,  and  re- 
mained several  moments  as  if  overpowered  by  joy  and 
gratitude  ;  but  he  rose  abruptly,  with  a  look  of  the  deep- 
est despair. 

"Has  not  your  experience  of  marriage  been  sad 
enough?"  said  he,  almost  harshly.  "Would  you  place 
yourself  again  under  the  yoke?" 

"You  frighten  me,"  said  Mme.  de  Blanchemont,  after 
a  moment  of  silent  terror.  "Are  you  conscious  of  tyran- 
nical instincts,  or  is  it  for  yourself  that  you  dread  the 
yoke  of  eternal  fidelity  ?  " 

"No  no  !  it  is  nothing  of  the  sort,"  replied  Lemor,  in 
a  dejected  manner.  "What  I  dread,  what  I  cannot  en- 
dure for  myself  or  for  you,  you  know  ;  but  you  will  not 
— you  cannot  understand  it.  Yet  we  have  often  spoken 
of  it,  before  we  imagined  that  such  discussions  were  ever 
to  interest  us  personally,  or  could  contain  for  me  the  sen- 
tence of  life  or  death  ! " 

"Is  it  possible,  Henri,  that  you  carry  fanaticism  so 
far  ?  What !  cannot  even  love  conquer  it  ?  Ah !  you 
men,  how  little  do  you  love  ! "  added  she,  with  a  heavy 
sigh.  "When  it  is  not  vice  that  hardens  your  souls,  it  is 
virtue  ;  and  whether  base  or  noble,  you  love  nothing  but 
yourselves." 

"Listen,  Marcelle  !  if  I  had  asked  you  a  month  ago  to 
fail  in  your  duty,  if  my  love  had  implored  what  your  re- 
ligion and  your  principles  would  have  made  you  consider 
a  great  and  irreparable  fault  — " 

"You  did  not  ask  me,"  said  Marcelle,  blushing. 

"I  loved  you  too  well  to  ask  you  to  suffer  and  weep 
for  me.     But  if  I  had,  MarceUe  ?  " 

"It  is  an  inconsiderate  question,"  said  she,  endeavor- 
ing, with  amiable  coquetry,  to  elude  a  reply. 

Her  grace  and  beauty  stirred  Lemor's  blood.  He 
clasped  her  passionately  to  his  heart ;  but  instantly  re- 
pressing his  excitement,  he  left  her,  and  walking  hurriedly 


6  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 

to  and  fro  behind  the  bench  on  which  she  was  seated, 
said  in  an  altered  voice  : 

"  And  if  I  asked  of  you  now  this  sacrifice,  which  your 
husband's  death  would  certainly  render  less  terrible  — 
less  alarming — " 

Mme.  de  Blanchemont  was  again  pale  and  serious. 

*' Henri,"  she  replied,  ''I  should  be  offended  and 
wounded  to  my  heart's  core  by  such  a  thought,  when  I 
have  just  offered  you  my  hand,  and  you  seem  to  refuse 
it." 

"I  am  indeed  unhappy  that  I  cannot  make  myself 
understood,  and  am  taken  for  a  villain,  when  I  feel  within 
me  the  very  heroism  of  love ! "  answered  he,  bitterly. 
"  You  think  the  phrase  ambitious,  and  are  ready  to  smile 
with  pity.  Nevertheless  it  is  true,  and  God  knows  my 
agony — it  is  fierce,  it  passes  my  courage  !  — " 

And  Henri  burst  into  tears. 

The  young  man's  grief  was  so  deep  and  unfeigned,  as 
to  terrify  Mme.  de  Blanchemont.  These  burning  tears 
seemed  like  an  invincible  refusal  of  happiness,  like  an 
eternal  farewell  to  all  the  illusions  of  youth  and  love. 

"  Oh,  my  dear  Henri ! "  cried  Marcelle,  "  what  wrong 
can  you  have  resolved  to  do  us  both  ?  Why  this  despair, 
when  you  are  the  master  of  my  life,  when  nothing  longer 
prevents  our  union  before  God  and  man  ?  Can  my  son 
be  an  obstacle  between  us?  Do  you  not  feel  large- 
hearted  enough  to  bestow  upon  him  part  of  your  affec- 
tion for  me?  Do  you  fear  ever  having  to  reproach 
yourself  with  the  misery  and  desertion  of  the  child  of 
my  bosom  ?  " 

"Your  son  !  "  cried  Henri,  sobbing.  "  I  should  have 
a  more  serious  fear  than  that  of  not  loving  him.  I  should 
fear  to  love  him  too  well,  and  that  I  could  not  resign  my- 
self to  seeing  his  life  borne  on  the  current  of  the  time  in  an 
opposite  direction  from  mine.  Custom  and  opinion  would 
command  me  to  leave  him  to  the  world,  and  I  should  de- 
sire to  tear  him  from  it,  even  should  I  render  him  unhappy, 
poor,  and  desolate,  with  me.  i  No,  I  could  not  look  upon 
him  with  enough  indifference  and  selfishness  to  consent 
that  he  should  grow  up  like  other  men  of  his  classj —  no, 


p 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT, 


no !  that,  and  other  things,  everything,  in  your  position 
and  mine,  is  an  insurmountable  obstacle.  From  which- 
ever side  I  contemplate  such  a  future,  I  see  nothing  but  a 
frenzied  struggle, —  misery  for  you,  anathema  upon  me  ! 
It  is  impossible,  Marcelle,  eternally  impossible.  I  love 
you  too  well  to  accept  sacrifices  whose  extent  you  cannot 
measure,  and  whose  results  you  cannot  foresee.  I  see 
that  you  do  not  know  me.  You  take  me  for  a  weak  and 
vacillating  visionary.  I  am  an  obstinate  and  incorrig- 
ible visionary.  You  have  sometimes,  perhaps,  accused 
me  of  affectation ;  you  believed  that  one  word  i)f  yours 
would  bring  me  back  to  what  you  think  reason  and  truth. 
Oh,  I  am  more  unfortunate  than  you  imagine,  and  I  love 
you  more  than  you  can  yet  understand.  In  future  — 
yes,  in  the  time  to  come  —  you  will  thank  me  in  your 
deepest  thoughts  for  having  chosen  to  be  unhappy  alone." 

"In  the  future .-^  And  why?  And  when?  What  do 
you  mean  ?  " 

"  In  the  future,  I  mean,  when  you  awake  from  this 
dark  and  evil  dream  into  which  I  have  drawn  you,  when 
you  return  to  the  world,  and  share  its  sweet  and  easy 
pleasures ;  when  you  are  no  longer  an  angel,  in  short, 
and  descend  again  to  earth." 

"  Yes,  yes,  when  I  am  withered  by  selfishness,  and 
corrupted  by  flattery !  That  is  what  you  would  say,  that 
is  your  prophecy  for  me  !  Your  stern  pride  does  not 
believe  me  capable  of  receiving  your  thoughts,  or  of 
comprehending  your  heart.  Say  it  out, —  you  do  not 
think  me  worthy  of  you,  Henri  I " 

"These  are  terrible  words,  madam,  and  this  struggle 
cannot  be  longer  endured.  Let  me  fly,  for  we  cannot 
understand  one  another  now." 

"  You  leave  me  thus  !  " 

"  No,  I  do  not  leave  you.  I  go,  far  from  your  pres- 
ence, to  contemplate  you  in  myself,  and  to  adore  you  in 
my  secret  heart.  I  go  to  constant  suffering,  but  with  the 
hope  that  you  will  forget  me,  with  remorse  for  having 
desired  and  sought  your  love,  and  with  the  one  consola- 
tion, at  least,  of  not  having  basely  abused  it." 


S  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 

Mme.  de  Blanchemont  had  risen  to  prevent  Henri  from 
going.     She  fell  back,  exhausted,  upon  her  bench. 

"  Why,  then,  did  you  ask  to  see  me?  "  inquired  she,  in 
a  cold  and  offended  tone,  as  he  turned  away. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  he,  ''  you  are  right  to  blame  me  for 
it.  It  was  my  last  piece  of  cowardice.  I  felt  it,  but 
I  yielded  to  the  necessity  of  seeing  you  once  more.  I 
hoped  to  find  you  changed  toward  me :  your  silence 
made  me  think  you  were ;  I  was  consumed  by  sorrow, 
and  thought  to  obtain  strength  for  my  cure  in  your  cold- 
ness. Why  did  I  come  !  Why  do  you  love  me  I  Am 
I  not  the  coarsest,  most  ungrateful,  savage,  and  detest- 
able of  men  ?  But  it  is  well  that  you  should  see  me  so, 
and  know  that  there  is  nothing  to  regret  in  me.  That  is 
best ;  and  thus  was  it  not  well  that  I  came  ?  " 

Henri  spoke  distractedly;  his  calm,  grave  features 
were  distorted,  and  his  voice,  usually  sweet  and  sympa- 
thetic, was  painfully  hard  and  untoned.  Marcelle  saw 
his  suffering,  but  her  own  was  so  keen  that  she  could  say 
and  do  nothing  for  their  mutual  consolation.  She  sat  pale 
and  mute,  her  hands  clenched  together,  and  her  body 
rigid  as  marble.  Just  on  the  point  of  leaving,  Henri 
turned,  and,  seeing  her  thus,  flung  himself  at  her  feet, 
covering  them  with  tears  and  kisses.  "  Farewell,"  said 
he,  "loveliest  and  purest  of  women,  best  of  friends,  no- 
blest of  lovers  !  Mayst  thou  find  a  heart  worthy  of  thee, 
a  man  who  shall  love  thee  as  I  do,  and  who  will  bring  thee 
a  better  marriage  gift  than  discouragement  and  weari- 
ness of  life !  Mayst  thou  be  happy,  and  bestow  happi- 
ness, without  encountering  the  struggles  of  an  existence 
like  mine !  And  finally,  if  there  remain  in  the  world 
where  thou  livest  one  spark  of  loyalty  and  of  human 
charity,  mayst  thou  rekindle  it  with  thy  divine  breath,  and 
find  grace  before  God  for  thy  caste  and  thy  generation, 
whom  thy  perfection  alone  is  sufficient  to  ransom  !  " 

With  these  words,  Henri  rushed  out,  forgetting  that 
he  left  Marcelle  in  despair.  He  seemed  like  one  driven 
by  the  Furies. 

Mme.  de  Blanchemont  remained  a  long  time  as  if 
Btunned.    When  she  returned  to  her  apartments,  she  paced 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT.  9 

her  chamber  slowly  till  morning,  without  shedding  one 
tear,  or  disturbing  by  one  sigh  the  stillness  of  the  night. 

It  would  be  rash  to  say  that  this  young  widow,  only 
twenty-two,  beautiful,  wealthy,  and  distinguished  in 
society  for  her  grace,  talents,  and  intelligence,  was  not  in 
a  certain  degree  mortified  and  affronted  at  seeing  her 
hand  refused  by  a  man  without  birth,  fortune,  or  reputa- 
tion. Offended  feminine  pride  probably  sustained  her  at 
first.  But  the  true  nobility  of  her  sentiments  soon  sug- 
gested more  serious  reflections,  and  for  the  first  time  she 
looked  deeply  into  her  own  life,  and  into  the  general  life 
of  those  about  her.  She  recalled  all  that  Lemor  had 
said  to  her  in  former  days,  when  the  only  connection 
possible  between  them  was  that  of  hopeless  love.  She 
was  astonished  that  she  had  not  been  more  seriously  im- 
pressed by  the  austerity  of  his  opinions,  and  had  let  them 
pass  as  romantic  fancies.  She  began  to  estimate  him 
with  the  calmness  attained  by  a  strong  and  generous  de- 
termination, even  amidst  violent  emotion.  As  the  hours 
of  the  night  passed  on,  and  were  echoed  by  the  clear  and 
silvery  voices  of  the  distant  steeples  through  the  silence 
of  the  great  sleeping  city,  Marcelle  arrived  at  that  clear- 
ness of  perception  which  sorrow  draws  from  the  medita- 
tions of  long  watchfulness.  Educated  with  different 
views  from  Lemor,  she  had,  nevertheless,  been  as  it 
were  predestined  to  share  the  love  of  this  plebeian,  and 
to  find  it  her  shelter  from  all  the  languor  and  weariness 
of  aristocratic  life.  Hers  was  one  of  those  strong  and 
loving  souls  to  whom  self-sacrifice  is  a  necessity,  and  who 
imagine  no  other  happiness  than  that  they  give.  Unhappy 
at  home,  weary  of  society,  she  had  yielded  with  a  girl's 
romantic  confidence  to  a  sentiment  which  had  soon  become 
sacred  to  her.  Sincerely  religious  in  her  youth,  it  was  in- 
evitable that  she  should  be  passionately  attached  to  a  lover 
who  respected  her  scruples  and  worshipped  her  purity. 
She  was  impelled  by  her  very  piety  to  heighten  her  love, 
and  to  desire  to  consecrate  it  by  indissoluble  bonds  the 
moment  she  found  herself  free.  She  had  thought  with 
joy  of  bravely  sacrificing  those  external  advantages 
which  are  valued  hy  the  world,  and  the  narrow  preju- 


JO  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 

dices  of  birth,  by  which  her  own  judgment  had  never 
been  misled.  The  poor  child  thought  to  do  a  great  thing, 
and  it  was  really  great,  for  the  world  would  have  laughed 
or  blamed.  She  had  not  foreseen  that  all  this  was  yet 
as  nought,  and  that  the  pride  of  the  plebeian  would  repel 
her  sacrifice  almost  as  an  affront. 

Suddenly  enlightened  by  the  dismay,  the  grief,  and  the 
resistance  of  Lemor,  Marcelle  revolved  in  her  perturbed 
miiid  all  that  she  had  dimly  seen  of  the  social  crisis  of 
the  age.  fThe  high  regions  of  thought  are  no  longer  un- 
familiar to  the  women  of  our  time.  All,  according  to 
the  rate  of  their  intelligence,  can  henceforth,  without 
affectation  on  their  own  part,  or  ridicule  on  that  of  others, 
read  daily,  under  all  its  forms,  newspaper  or  romance, 
philosophy,  politics,  or  poetry,  official  statement  or  inti- 
mnte  conversation,  the  great  book  of  actual  life,  sad, 
diffuse,  contradictory,  yet  always  full  of  depth  and  sig- 
nificance^ Thus  she  well  knew,  as  we  all  do,  that  this 
diseased  and  benumbed  Present  is  at  war  with  the  Past, 
which  holds  it  back,  and  the  Future,  which  beckons  it  on. 
She  saw  sharp  lightnings  dart  over  her  head,  she  felt  the 
approach,  sooner  or  later,  of  a  great  struggle.  Her  na- 
ture was  not  cowardly ;  she  neither  feared,  nor  closed 
her  eyes.  The  regrets,  complaints,  terrors,  and  recrim- 
inations of  her  noble  relations  had  wearied  and  disgusted 
her  with  fear.  Youth  will  not  belie  the  season  of  its 
bloom,  and  holds  its  sweet  summer  dear,  though  laden  with 
storms !  The  affectionate  and  courageous  Marcelle  felt 
that,  while  with  the  being  she  loved,  she  could  smile  in 
the  wildest  tempest,  and  under  the  lowliest  shelter.  The 
threatening  strife  of  external  interests  appeared  to  her  as 
nothing.  ^'  Of  what  consequence  are  ruin,  exile,  and 
imprisonment  ? "  thought  she,  when  those  who  were 
deemed  fortunate  trembled  around  her.  "  They  can 
never  exile  love ;  and  as  for  me,  thanks  to  Heaven,  I 
love  a  poor  man  who  will  be  unmolested.'* 

But  it  had  not  occurred  to  her  that  she  might  be  stricken 
in  her  very  affections  by  this  obscure  and  mysterious  war, 
which  exists  in  defiance  of  all  official  restraint  and  appar- 
ent discouragement.  This  conflict  of  feeling  and  opinion 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT.  n 

is  now  thorougUy  opened,  and  Marcelie  saw  her  illu- 
sions drop  from  her  as  suddenly  as  if  she  had  awakened 
from  a  dream.  War,  moral  and  intellectual,  is  declared 
between  the  different  classes  imbued  with  opposite  beliefs 
and  passions,  and  Mme.  de  Blanchemont  found,  in  the  man 
who  adored  her,  a  sort  of  irreconcilable  enemy.  Shocked 
at  first  by  the  discovery,  she  familiarized  herself  gradually 
with  the  idea,  which  suggested  to  her  new  designs  still 
more  romantic  and  generous  than  those  which  had  sus- . 
tained  her  during  the  past  month,  and  at  the  end  of  her 
long  walk  through  her  silent  and  deserted  rooms,  she 
found  composure  in  a  resolution  which  perhaps  no  one 
but  herself  could  regard  without  a  smile  of  admiration  or 
of  pity. 

This  took  place  quite  recently — it  may  be  last  year.* 

*Thi8  novel  was  published  in  1846.  —  IV. 


la  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 


CHAPTER    IL 

THE  JOURNEr. 

"V/TARCELLE  having  married  her  cousin-german,  bore 
^^  the  name  of  Blanchemont  both  before  and  after  her 
marriage,  and  the  estate  and  chateau  of  Blanchemont 
made  part  of  her  patrimony.  The  estate  was  valuable, 
but  the  chateau  was  no  longer  inhabited,  even  by  the 
tenants  to  whom  it  had  been  abandoned  for  more  than 
two  hundred  years,  because  it  was  much  decayed,  and 
would  have  cost  too  much  in  repairs.  Mile,  de  Blanche- 
mont, early  left  an  orphan,  brought  up  in  a  Parisian 
convent,  married  very  young,  and,  not  initiated  by  her 
husband  into  the  management  of  her  affairs,  had  never 
seen  this,  her  ancestral  domain.  Resolved  to  quit  Paris, 
and  to  seek  in  the  country  a  mode  of  life  in  accordance 
with  her  new  projects,  she  chose  Blanchemont  as  the 
commencement  of  her  pilgrimage,  with  the  intention 
of  establishing  herself  in  this  residence,  if  it  met  her 
purpose.  She  was  aware  of  the  dilapidated  state  of  her 
chateau,  and  this  was  one  reason  why  she  looked  toward 
it  in  preference.  The  embarrassment  and  disorder  in 
which  her  husband  had  left  all  her  affairs  and  his  own, 
served  her  as  pretext  for  undertaking  a  journey,  of  which 
she  spoke  as  only  to  last  some  weeks,  but  to  which,  in 
her  secret  thought,  she  assigned  no  precise  object  or  term  ; 
her  own  real  design  being  to  quit  Paris,  and  the  manner 
of  life  to  which  she  was  there  compelled. 

Fortunately  for  her  plans,  there  was  no  member  of  her 
family  who  could  easily  accompany  her.  She  was  an 
only  child,  and  not  troubled  by  the  protection  of  elder 
brothers  or  sisters.  Her  husband's  parents  were  aged, 
and  as  they  were  somewhat  alarmed  at  the  debt  left  by 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT.  13 

their  son,  which  could  be  paid  off  only  by  excellent  man- 
agement, they  were  at  once  astonished  and  delighted  to 
see  a  woman  of  twenty-two,  who  had  hitherto  shown  no 
taste  or  aptitude  for  business,  determine  to  arrange  her 
own,  and  go  to  see  for  herself  into  the  state  of  her  prop- 
erty. Still  they  made  several  objections  to  her  starting 
alone  with  her  child.  They  wished  that  she  "should  be 
attended  by  her  man  of  business.  They  feared  lest  the 
child  should  suffer  from  a  journey  in  such  hot  weather. 
Marcelle  replied  to  her  father  and  mother-in-law  that  a 
prolonged  tete-a-tete  with  an  old  lawyer  would  not  ex- 
actly alleviate  the  burden  she  was  about  to  take  upon 
herself;  that  she  should  obtain  more  direct  information 
and  advice  better  adapted  to  the  locality,  from  the  pro- 
vincial advocates  and  notaries ;  in  fine,  that  there  was 
nothing  so  very  difficult  in  settling  accounts  with  tenants, 
and  renewing  leases.  As  to  the  child,  the  air  of  Paris 
enfeebled  him  more  and  more.  The  country,  exercise, 
and  sunshine  would  do  him  only  good.  And  then  Mar- 
celle, grown  suddenly  adroit  in  overcoming  the  obstacles 
which  she  had  foreseen  and  considered  during  her  vigil 
related  in  the  preceding  chapter,  laid  stress  upon  her 
duty  as  guardian  of  her  son.  She  was  still  in  partial  ig- 
norance of  the  condition  of  M.  de  Blanchemont's  estate, 
she  said,  and  knew  not  whether  he  had  drawn  largely  in 
advance  upon  his  agents,  or  given  heavy  mortgages  upon 
his  lands,  etc.  All  these  things  it  was  her  duty  to  examine, 
and  make  a  personal  investigation,  that  she  might  know 
how  to  arrange  her  future  establishment  without  com- 
promising her  boy's  interests.  She  talked  so  wisely  of 
these  interests,  of  which  in  reality  she  thought  very  little, 
that  at  the  end  of  twelve  hours  she  had  carried  the  day, 
and  brought  all  the  family  to  approve  and  praise  her  res- 
olution. Her  love  for  Henri  had  remained  so  secret,  that 
no  suspicion  of  it  disturbed  the  confidence  of  the  grand- 
parents. 

Sustained  by  unaccustomed  activity  and  enthusiastic 
hope,  Marcelle  slept  little  better  the  night  following  that 
of  her  interview  with  Lemor.  She  had  strange  dreams, 
now  cheerful,  now  sad.     At  last,  awaking  with  the  dawn, 


14  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 

she  cast  a  thoughtful  look  around  her  apartment,  and  was 
struck,  for  the  first  time,  with  the  useless  and  extrav- 
agant luxury  displayed  about  her,  with  the  satiu  hang-  ' 
ings,  the  extreme  ease  and  softness  of  the  furniture,  the 
number  of  expensive  trifles  and  costly  toys  ;  in  short,  the 
whole  array  of  gilding,  china,  carved  wood,  and  frippery 
which  now  crowds  the  house  of  a  fine  lady.  "  I  should 
like  to  know,"  thought  she,  "why  we  have  such  contempt 
for  women  of  the  town.  They  make  others  give  them 
what  we  are  able  to  give  ourselves.  They  sacrifice  their 
modesty  to  the  possession  of  things  which  should  have 
no  value  in  the  eyes  of  thoughtful  and  serious  women, 
and  which  we,  nevertheless,  regard  as  indispensable. 
They  have  tastes  like  ours,  and  it  is  to  appear  as  rich 
and  ibrtunate  as  we  that  they  degrade  themselves.  We 
should  give  them  the  example  of  severe  simplicity  in  our 
lives,  before  condemning  them.  And  if  our  indissoluble 
marriages  were  compared  with  their  transient  unions, 
would  there  be  found  much  more  disinterestedness  among 
the  young  girls  of  our  class  ?  Would  there  not  be  seen 
as  often  among  us,  as  with  them,  a  child  bound  to  an  old 
man,  beauty  profaned  by  the  ugliness  of  vice,  and  intel- 
lect subjected  to  imbecility,  all  for  love  of  a  set  of  dia- 
monds, a  carriage,  and  an  opera-box  ?  Unhappy  women  ! 
They  say  you  also  despise  us,  and  well  you  may !  " 

Meanwhile,  the  pale,  clear  light  which  penetrated  the 
curtains,  showed  all  the  enchantment  of  the  sanctuary, 
which,  in  former  times,  Mme.  de  Blanchemont  had  pleased 
herself  in  decorating  with  exquisite  taste.  She  had  almost 
always  lived  apart  from  her  husband,  and  this  retired 
and  beautiful  chamber,  into  which  Henri  himself  had 
never  dared  penetrate,  was  endeared  to  her  only  by  sweet 
and  pensive  recollections.  It  was  here  that,  flying  from 
the  world,  she  had  read  and  meditated  amid  the  perfume 
of  flowers  of  unequalled  beauty,  —  flowers  such  as  are 
found  only  in  Paris,  and  which  now  form  part  of  the 
daily  life  of  the  wealthy.  She  had  made  this  retreat  as  \ 
poetic  as  she  could.  She  had  adorned  and  beautified  it 
for  herself;  she  was  attached  to  it  as  a  mysterious 
refuge,  wher«  th«  sorrows  of  her  life,  and  the  passionate 


THE  MILLER    OF  ANGIBAULT.  15 

storms  of  her  spirit,  had  always  been  soothed  by  medita- 
tion and  prayer.  She  gazed  around  it  long  and  affection- 
ately, and  then  pronounced  in  her  heart  an  eternal 
farewell  to  all  these  silent  witnesses  of  her  inner  life,  — 
a  life  concealed  like  that  of  the  flower,  whose  stainless 
beauty  could  endure  the  broadest  sunlight,  but  which 
bows  its  head  beneath  the  foliage,  for  love  of  the  shade 
and  coolness.  "  My  chosen  retreat,  my  beloved  orna- 
ments, you  have  been  dear  to  me,"  thought  she  ;  "  but  I 
can  love  you  no  longer,  for  you  belong  to  wealth  and  indo- 
lence, and  help  to  consecrate  them.  You  typify  to  me, 
henceforth,  all  that  divides  me  from  Henri,  and  I  could 
not  look  upon  you  without  disgust  and  bitterness  of  heart. 
Let  us  part  before  we  hate.  Thou,  stern  Madonna, 
wouldst  cease  to  protect  me  ;  clear  and  deep  mirrors,  you 
would  make  me  detest  my  own  image  ;  and  you,  beau- 
tiful flower-vases,  would  have  for  me  neither  grace  nor 
fragrance ! " 

Then,  before  writing,  as  she  had  resolved,  to  Henri, 
slie  y^Qni  softly  to  see  and  bless  the  sleep  of  her  child. 
The  sight  of  the  pale  boy,  whose  precocious  intellect  had 
been  developed  at  the  expense  of  his  bodily  strength, 
passionately  moved  her.  She  spoke  to  him  in  her  heart, 
as  if,  in  his  slumber,  he  could  have  heard  and  under- 
stood her  maternal  thought.  "Be  calm,"  she  said  to 
him,  "  I  do  not  love  him  more  than  thee.  Be  not  jealous. 
Were  he  not  the  best  and  noblest  of  men,  I  would  not 
give  him  to  thee  for  a  father.  Yes,  little  angel,  thou  art 
warmly  and  faithfully  loved.  Sleep  on,  we  will  never 
forsake  thee !  " 

All  bathed  with  delicious  tears,  Marcelle  returned  to 
her  chamber,  and  wrote  these  few  lines  to  Lemor : 

"You  are  right,  and  I  understand  you.  I  am  not 
worthy  of  you,  but  I  shall  become  so,  for  I  am  resolved 
upon  it.  I  am  starting  on  a  long  journey.  Do  not  be 
troubled  about  me,  and  continue  to  love  me.  In  a  year 
from  to-day  you  shall  receive  a  letter  from  me.  Arrange 
your  affairs  so  as  to  be  free  to  come  whenever  I  shall 
call  you.  If  you  do  not  find  me  sufficiently  converted, 
you  shall  give  me  another  year,  —  a  year,  two  years, 


l6  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 

•with  hope,  is  almost  happiness  for  two  creatures  who 
have  loved  hopelessly  so  long." 

She  sent  this  note  very  early.  But  M.  Lemor  was 
not  to  be  found.  He  had  gone  away  the  evening  before, 
no  one  knew  where,  or  for  how  long.  But  it  was  certain 
that  he  would  have  the  note,  because  one  of  his  friends 
was  charged  to  come  every  day  to  the  modest  lodging  he 
had  occupied,  to  receive  and  send  to  him  any  letters  that 
might  come. 

Two  days  later,  Mme.  de  Blanchemont,  with  her  son, 
a  maid,  and  a  man-servant,  were  travelling  by  post 
through  the  wastes  of  La  Sologne. 

At  eighty  leagues  from  Paris  the  traveller  found  her- 
self nearly  in  the  centre  of  France,  and  stopped  for  the 
night  in  the  town  nearest  in  that  direction  to  Blanche- 
mont, which  was  still  five  or  six  leagues  distant.  In  these 
central  parts  of  the  kingdom,  notwithstanding  all  the  new 
roads  opened  within  a  few  years,  there  is  so  little  commu- 
nication between  the  different  country  places,  that  at  a 
short  distance  it  is  difficult  to  obtain  from  the  inhabitants 
any  distinct  information  concerning  a  neighboring  estate. 
All  know  very  well  the  way  to  the  town,  or  to  the  foreign 
district  where  their  business  occasionally  calls  them.  But 
ask  in  a  village  the  way  to  a  farm  a  league  beyond,  and  it 
is  ten  to  one  that  nobody  can  tell  you.  There  are  so  many 
vyrays  !  and  they  all  look  alike.  Mme.  de  Blanchemout's 
servants  were  up  early  to  prepare  for  their  mistress's  de- 
parture, but  could  obtain  neither  from  the  inn-keeper,  his 
people,  or  the  country  travellers  who  happened  to  be  there, 
and  were  still  half  asleep,  any  light  upon  the  subject  of 
Blanchemont.  No  one  knew  exactly  where  it  was.  Oiie 
came  from  MontluQon,  another  knew  Chateau  Mcillant ; 
all  had  crossed  Ardentes  and  La  Chatre  a  hundred  times, 
but  of  Blanchemont  they  knew  only  the  name. 

"  It  is  a  good  estate,"  said  one  ;  "  I  know  the  farmer, 
but  I  never  was  there  ;  it  is  a  great  way  from  us  —  four 
long  leagues  at  least.'* 

"  Faith  !  "  said  another,  "  I  saw  the  Blanchemont  cattle 
at  Berthenoux  Fair  only  last  year,  and  I  spoke  to  M.  Bri- 
colin,  the  farmer,  just  as  I  speak  to  you  now.     Oh  yes, 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 


n 


yes  !  I  know  Blanchemont,  but  I  don't  know  which  way 
it  lies  from  here." 

The  bar-maid,  like  all  bar-maids,  knew  nothing  of  the 
neighborhood.  Like  all  bar-maids,  she  was  new  to  the 
place. 

The  waiting-maid  and  man,  accustomed  to  attend  their 
mistress  to  superb  residences  known  for  twenty  leagues 
round,  and  situated  in  civilized  countries,  began  to  think 
themselves  in  the  depths  of  Sahara.  Their  faces  elon- 
gated, and  their  pride  was  cruelly  hurt  at  having  to  ask 
in  vain  the  way  to  the  chateau  they  were  about  to  honor 
with  their  presence. 

"  Is  it  a  hovel,  or  a  den,  then?"  said  Suzette,  disdain- 
fully, to  Lapierre. 

"  It  is  the  palace  of  Corybantes,"  replied  Lapierre, 
who  had  admired  in  his  youth  a  favorite  melo-drama  called 
the  Castle  of  Corisanda,  and  who  applied  the  name,  some- 
what distorted,  to  every  ruin  he  met. 

At  last,  a  bright  idea  struck  the  stable-boy. 

"  I  have  a  man  up  there  in  the  hay-loft,"  said  he,  "  who 
will  tell  you,  for  it  is  his  business  to  drive  through  the 
country  day  and  night.  It  is  Grand-Louis,  otherwise 
called  the  tall  miller." 

"Go  fetch  the  tall  miller,"  said  Lapierre,  majestically  ;  "it 
appears  that  his  sleeping-apartment  is  at  the  ladder's  end." 

The  tall  miller  descended  from  his  loft,  stretching,  and 
cracking  the  joints  of  his  large  arms  and  legs.  Seeing 
his  athletic  form  and  resolute  face,  Lapierre  came  down 
Irom  his  facetious  tone  of  grandeur,  and  politely  ques- 
tioned him.  The  miller  was  certainly  well  informed,  but 
from  the  revelations  which  he  made,  Suzette  judged  it 
necessary  to  bring  him  to  Mme.  de  Blanchemont,  who 
was  taking  her  chocolate  in  the  dining-room  with  little 
Edward,  and  who,  far  from  sharing  the  dismay  of  her 
people,  was  rejoiced  to  learn  from  them  that  Blanchemont 
was  a  lost  and  almost  undiscoverable  country. 

The  specimen  of  the  soil  who  presented  himself  at  this 
instant  before  her,  was  five  feet  eight  inches  in  height,  a 
remarkable  stature  in  a  country  where  the  men  are  gen- 
erally diminutive.     He  was  robust  in  proportion,  well- 


l8  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAU LT. 

made,  easy,  and  of  a  striking  countenance.  Tlie  girls  of 
his  neighborhood  called  him  the  handsome  miller,  and 
this  epithet  was  as  well  deserved  as  the  other.  When  he 
wiped  away  with  the  back  of  his  sleeve  the  flour  which 
usually  covered  his  cheeks,  he  discovered  a  brown,  ani- 
mated, and  beautifully  toned  complexion.  His  features 
were  regular,  strongly  cut  like  his  limbs,  his  eyes  blue 
and  deep-set,  his  teeth  of  dazzling  whiteness,  and  his  long 
chestnut  hair,  close-curled  like  that  of  a  very  strong  man, 
framed  squarely  a  broad  and  full  forehead,  which  told 
rather  of  acuteness  and  good  sense  than  of  poetic  ideality. 
He  was  dressed  in  a  blouse  of  coarse  blue,  and  gray  linen 
pantaloons.  He  wore  no  stockings,  great  hob-nailed 
shoes,  and  carried  a  heavy  stick  of  mountain-ash,  termi- 
nated by  a  knot  of  the  branch,  so  as  to  make  a  sort  of  club. 

He  entered  with  assurance  which  might  have  been  taken 
for  effrontery,  if  the  mildness  of  his  light  blue  eyes,  and 
the  smile  of  his  large  vermilion  mouth,  had  not  testified 
that  frankness,  goodness,  and  a  sort  of  philosophic  non- 
chalance, were  at  the  foundation  of  his  character. 

"  At  your  service,  madam,"  said  he,  raising  his  wide- 
brimmed  hat  of  gray  felt,  but  without  exactly  removing  it 
from  his  head ;  for,  just  as  the  old-fashioned  peasant  is 
obsequious,  and  disposed  to  salute  every  one  better  dressed 
than  himself,  so  are  those  who  date  from  after  the  Revo- 
lution remarkable  for  the  adherence  of  their  head-gear 
to  their  hair.  "I  am  told  that  you  wish  to  know  of  me 
the  way  to  Blanchemont  ?  " 

The  loud  and  sonorous  voice  of  the  tall  miller  startled 
Marcelle,  who  had  not  seen  him  enter.  She  turned 
quickly,  surprised,  at  first,  by  his  bluntness.  But  such  is 
the  privilege  of  beauty,  that,  on  a  mutual  examination, 
the  young  miller  and  the  young  lady  presently  forgot  the 
sort  of  mistrust  always  inspired  at  first  by  a  difference  in 
rank.  Only  Marcelle,  seeing  him  disposed  to  be  familiar, 
thought  proper  to  remind  him,  by  exceeding  politeness, 
of  the  regard  due  to  her  sex. 

"  I  am  much  obliged  to  you  for  your  kindness,"  said 
she,  bowing  to  him,  "  and  I  pray  you,  sir,  to  be  good 
enough  to  tell  me  if  there  is  a  tolerable  carriage-road 
from  here  to  the  farm  of  Blanchemont." 


r 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT.  19 


The  tall  miller,  without  being  invited,  had  already  taken 
a  chair  to  seat  himself,  but  on  hearing  himself  called  Sir^ 
his  fine  natural  perception  told  him  that  he  was  speaking 
with  a  person  of  native  sweetness  and  dignity.  Without 
any  embarrassment,  he  quietly  took  off  his  hat,  and  rest- 
ing his  hands  on  the  back  of  the  chair,  as  if  to  assure 
himself — 

''  There  is  a  cross-road,  not  very  smooth,"  said  he, 
"  but  you  will  not  overturn  if  you  take  care  ;  you  need 
only  to  follow  it,  and  not  take  another.  I  will  explain 
that  to  your  postilion.  But  the  surest  way  will  be  to 
take  a  pataclie  here,  for  the  Black  Valley  is  worse  than 
usual,  on  account  of  the  late  rain-storms,  and  I  do  not  be- 
lieve that  your  little  carriage-wheels  would  ever  come  out 
of  the  ruts.    It  might  be,  but  I  would  not  answer  for  it." 

''I  see  that  your  ruts  are  no  joke,  and  that  it  will  be 
most  prudent  to  take  your  advice.  You  are  sure  that  I 
shall  not  overturn  in  a  patache  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  do  not  be  afraid,  madam." 

"  I  am  not  afraid  for  myself,  but  for  this  little  child. 
That  is  what  makes  me  prudent." 

"  Indeed  then  it  would  be  a  pity  to  break  these  little 
bones,"  said  the  tall  miller,  going  up  to  Edward  with  a 
look  of  cordial  kindness.  "  What  a  cunning,  pretty  little 
man  it  is  ! " 

"Very  slender,  is  he  not?"  said  Marcelle,  smiling. 

"  Faith  !  not  strong,  but  pretty  as  a  girl.  And  so  you 
are  coming  down  to  our  country,  sir  ?  " 

"  Ho  !  how  tall  he  is  ! "  cried  Edward,  catching  hold 
of  Grand-Louis,  who  had  bent  towards  him.  ''  Make 
me  touch  the  ceiling !  " 

The  miller  took  the  child,  and,  lifting  him  above  his 
head,  carried  him  along  the  blackened  cornice  of  the 
room. 

"  Take  care  !  "  said  Mme.  de  Blanchemont,  somewhat 
alarmed  by  the  freedom  with  which  the  rustic  Hercules 
handled  her  child. 

"  Oh !  don't  fear,"  answered  Grand-Louis.  "  I  had 
rather  break  all  the  alochons  of  my  mill,  than  one  of  thia 
gentleman's  fingers." 


20  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT, 

Tho  word  alochon  delighted  the  boy,  who  repeated 
it  laughing,  but  without  understanding  its  meaning. 

*'You  do  not  know  what  that  is?"  said  the  miller. 
"  They  are  the  little  wings  —  the  bits  of  wood  —  which 
ride  on  the  wheel,  and  which  the  water  pushes  to  make 
it  turn.  I  will  show  you  how,  if  you  ever  come  where 
I  live." 

"  Yes,  yes  —  alochon  !  "  cried  the  child,  bursting  into 
a  laugh,  and  turning  a  somerset  in  the  miller's  arms. 

"  Is  the  little  rogue  making  fun  of  me  ?  "  said  Grand- 
Louis,  replacing  him  in  his  chair.  "Well,  madam,  I 
must  go  to  my  business.  Have  I  done  all  I  can 
lor  you?" 

"  Yes,  my  friend,"  replied  Marcelle,  forgetting  her 
reserve  in  her  kind  feeling. 

"  Oh,  I  ask  no  better  than  to  be  your  friend,"  gayly 
returned  the  miller,  with  a  look  which  expressed  that, 
Irom  a  person  less  young  and  beautiful,  this  familiarity 
would  not  have  gratified  him. 

"  Very  well,"  thought  Marcelle,  with  a  blush  and  a 
smile  ;  "  I  shall  take  the  warning.  Farewell,  sir,"  she 
added  aloud,  "  till  we  meet  again,  for  you  doubtless  live 
at  Blanchemont  ?  " 

"  Very  near.  I  am  the  Miller  of  Angibault,  one  league 
from  your  chateau ;  for  I  understand  that  you  are  the 
lady  of  Blanchemont?  " 

Marcelle  had  forbidden  her  people  to  betray  her  incog- 
nito. vShe  desired  to  come  unobserved  to  the  country ; 
but  she  saw  plainly,  by  the  manner  of  the  miller,  that 
her  rank  as  proprietor  did  not  make  as  much  sensation 
as  she  had  feared.  An  absentee  proprietor  is  a  stranger 
for  whom  nobody  cares.  The  farmer  who  represents 
him,  and  transacts  his  affairs,  is  quite  another  personage. 

Notwithstanding  her  intention  to  start  early,  and  arrive 
at  Blanchemont  before  the  noonday  heats,  Marcelle  was 
forced  to  pass  most  of  the  day  at  this  inn.  Every 
patache  of  the  town  was  in  the  country,  on  account  of  a 
great  fair  in  the  neighborhood,  and  it  was  necessary  to 
await  the  return  of  the  first.  It  was  not  till  near  three 
ill  the  afternoon  that  Suzette  came  to  inform  her  mis- 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT,  21 

tress,  in  a  lamentable  voice,  that  a  sort  of  willow  basket, 
horrible  and  shameful,  was  the  only  vehicle  yet  at  her 
disposal. 

To  the  great  astonishment  of  the  wondering  maid, 
Mme.  de  Blanchemont  did  not  hesitate  to  make  use  of  it. 
Taking  a  few  necessary  articles,  she  gave  the  keys  of  her 
carriage  and  trunks  to  the  innkeeper,  and  set  off  in  the 
classic  patache  —  which  respectable  testimony  to  the  sim- 
plicity of  our  fathers  is  daily  becoming  more  rare,  even 
on  the  roads  of  the  Black  Valley.  That  which  Marcelle 
was  unlucky  enough  to  find  was  of  the  purest  indigenous 
construction,  and  an  antiquary  would  have  contemplated 
it  with  respect.  It  was  long  and  low,  like  a  coffin  ;  no 
manner  of  springs  varied  its  motions  ;  the  wheels,  as 
high  as  the  top,  were  prepared  to  brave  the  muddy 
trenches  which  furrow  our  cross-roads,  and  which  the 
miller,  doubtless  through  national  vanity,  was  pleased  to 
denominate  ruts  ;  finally,  the  top  itself  was  woven  only 
of  osier,  and  comfortably  lined  with  coarse  cloth  and 
dried  mud,  of  which  latter  every  good  jolt  detached  frag- 
ments upon  the  travellers'  heads.  A  little,  lean,  and 
fiery  stallion  rattled  along  with  this  rustic  car ;  and  the 
paiachon,  or  driver,  sitting  sideways  on  the  shaft,  his 
legs  hanging  —  inasmuch  as  our  fathers  found  it  more 
convenient  to  bring  a  chair  to  help  them  climb  into  their 
carriages  than  to  twist  their  feet  on  a  step  —  was  the 
least  crowded  and  least  endangered  of  the  passengers. 

The  journey  was,  nevertheless,  endurable  while  it  was 
possible  to  keep  to  the  high  road.  The  patachon  was  a 
lad  of  fifteen,  red-headed,  flat-nosed,  forward,  sticking  at 
nothing —  not  hesitating  to  urge  on  his  horse  with  all  the 
oaths  of  his  rich  vocabulary,  without  respect  to  the  pres- 
ence of  ladies  —  and  pleasing  himself  with  exhausting 
the  ardor  of  the  courageous  pony,  who  never  in  his  life 
had  tasted  oats,  and  who  was  put  into  capital  spirits  by 
the  mere  sight  of  the  green  fields  ;  but  when  these  were 
succeeded  by  a  barren  wilderness,  he  lowered  his  head 
—  more  in  anger  than  in  sorrow  —  and  dragged  the 
carriage  furiously  over  rough  and  smooth,  in  a  manner 
absolutely  cruel  to  the  occupants. 


aa  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT, 


CHAPTER     III. 

TEEE   MENDICANT. 

TT  was  far  worse  when  they  left  the  sands  to  descend 
-*•  into  the  heavy  clay  soil  of  the  Black  Valley.  From  the 
edge  of  the  sterile  upland,  Mme.  de  Blanchemont  had  ad- 
mired the  vast  and  beautiful  landscape,  which  was  unrolled 
from  her  feet  to  the  horizon  in  many- wooded  zones  of  pale 
violet  color,  cut  by  golden  bands  from  the  rays  of  the  set- 
ting sun.  There  are  no  more  charming  situations  in 
France.  Yet  the  vegetation  is  not  in  itself  remarkably 
vigorous.  No  great  river  furrows  these  plains,  and  no 
slated  roofs  reflect  the  sun.  There  are  no  picturesque 
mountains,  nothing  is  striking,  nothing  extraordinary  in 
this  quiet  scenery,  but,  from  the  heights  of  Labreuil  or 
Corlay,  a  single  glance  takes  in  a  noble  succession  of 
cultivated  estates,  and  an  endless  parcelling  out  of  fields, 
meadows,  coppice,  and  broad  commons,  which  give  va- 
riety of  form  and  color,  blended  in  one  general  liarmony 
of  dark  verdure  shading  into  blue.  It  is  a  rich  confusion 
of  ample  enclosures,  orchard-hidden  cabins,  curtaining 
poplars,  and  low-lying  bushy  pastures  ;  while,  upon  the 
table-lands,  paler  fields  and  brighter  hedges  relieve  the 
neighboring  masses,  and  the  whole  country,  for  fifty 
leagues  round,  presents  a  character  of  peculiar  and  har- 
pionious  grace. 

But  this  magnificent  panorama  was  soon  lost  from  the 
sight  of  our  traveller.  Once  involved  in  the  windings 
of  the  Black  Valley,  the  scene  changes.  By  turns  de- 
scending and  ascending  roads  bordered  by  high  thickets, 
you  skirt  no  precipices,  but  these  roads  are  themselves 
precipices.  The  sun,  sinking  behind  the  trees,  gives 
them  a  peculiar  appearance,  singularly  wild  and  graceful. 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT,  23 

There  are  mysterious  caves  beneath  their  dark  sliadows, 
watercourses  of  emerald  green  leading  to  stagnant  pools 
or  pathless  morasses,  steep  descents  impossible  for  a  car- 
riage to  reascend,  and,  in  fine,  continual  enchantment  for 
the  imagination,  and  real  danger  for  those  who  ventu- 
rously assay  otherwise  than  on  foot,  or  at  least  on  horse- 
back, these  enticing,  uncertain,  and  treacherous  by-ways. 

While  the  sun  was  above  the  horizon,  the  red-haired 
charioteer  made  out  very  well.  He  followed  the  track 
most  travelled,  and  consequently  most  rough,  but  also  the 
safest.  He  crossed  two  or  three  brooks  by  observing  the 
marks  of  cart-wheels  on  their  banks.  But  when  the  sun 
had  set,  the  darkness  came  on  rapidly  in  these  hollow 
ways,  and  the  last  peasant  whom  they  addressed  an- 
swered carelessly : 

"  Go  on  !  go  on  !  you  have  only  a  short  league  more, 
and  the  road  is  all  good." 

Now  this  was  the  sixth  peasant  who,  within  about  two 
hours,  had  stated  that  there  was  only  a  short  league  more, 
and  this  good  road  was  such  that  the  horse  was  exhausted, 
and  the  travellers  at  the  end  of  their  patience.  Marcelle 
herself  began  to  fear  an  overturn  ;  for  if  the  patachon  and 
his  nag  needed  all  their  skill  to  choose  their  passage  in 
broad  day,  it  was  impossible  that  in  dark  night  they 
should  avoid  the  false  openings  which  the  unequal  nature 
of  the  ground  renders  as  dangerous  as  picturesque,  and 
which  are  liable  to  sudden  terminations,  exposing  you  to 
a  fall  of  ten  or  twelve  perpendicular  feet.  The  lad  had 
never  penetrated  so  far  into  the  Black  Valley  ;  he  lost 
patience,  and  swore  furiously  every  time  that  he  was 
forced  to  retrace  his  steps  to  recover  the  way ;  he  com- 
plained of  thirst,  of  hunger,  groaned  over  the  fatigue  of 
his  horse,  beating  him  unmercifully  meanwhile,  and 
cursed  the  savage  country  and  its  stupid  inhabitants,  witl) 
all  the  airs  of  a  little  cockney. 

More  than  once,  seeing  the  road  steep,  but  dry,  Mar- 
celle and  her  servants  alighted  ;  but  they  could  not  walk 
five  minutes  without  coming  to  a  hollow  where  the  road 
narrowed,  and  was  entirely  occupied  by  stagnant  springs 
on  the  level  of  the  ground,  forming  a  liquid  mud  impos- 


24  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 

sible  for  a  delicate  woman  to  pass  on  foot.  The  Parisian 
Suzette  had  rather  be  overturned,  she  said,  than  leave  her 
shoes  in  these  sloughs  ;  and  Lapicrre,  who  had  passed  his 
life  in  pumps  upon  polished  floors,  was  so  awkward  and 
confused,  that  Mme.  de  Blanchemont  dared  not  let  him 
carry  her  sou. 

The  usual  answer  of  the  peasant,  when  asked  the  way, 
is,  "  Go  straight  on,  always  straight  on."  This  is  simply 
a  joke  —  a  sort  of  pun  —  which  means  that  you  are  to  walk 
8traiu:ht  on  your  legs  ;  for  there  is  not  a  straight  road  in 
the  Black  Valley.  The  numerous  ravines  made  by  the 
Indre,  the  Vauvre,  the  Couarde,  the  Gourdon,  and  a 
hundred  lesser  streams  which  take  different  names  in  their 
course,  and  have  never  borne  the  yoke  of  any  bridge  or 
dike,  force  you  to  a  thousand  turns  to  find  a  fordable 
place,  so  that  you  are  often  obliged  to  turn  your  back 
upon  the  spot  you  wish  to  reach. 

When  they  came  to  an  angle  of  the  road  surmounted 
by  a  cross  —  a  sinister  locality  always  peopled  by  the 
peasant  imagination  with  demons,  sorcerers,  and  fantastic 
animals  —  our  embarrassed  travellers  addressed  them- 
selves to  a  beggar,  who,  seated  upon  the  death-stone,* 
cried  to  them  in  a  monotonous  voice,  "  Charitable  souls, 
have  pity  on  a  miserable  creature  !  " 

The  great  stature  of  this  man,  who  was  very  old,  but 
still  robust,  and  armed  with  an  enormous  stick,  was  not 
very  encouraging  in  case  of  a  single  combat.  His  stern 
features  could  not  be  well  distinguished,  but  there  was 
something  more  imperious  than  suppliant  in  the  inflection 
of  his  harsh  voice.  His  melancholy  attitude  and  his 
filthy  rags  contrasted  with  the  sense  of  humor  which  had 
made  him  put  an  old  bouquet  and  a  faded  ribbon  on  his 
hat. 

••'  Friend,"  said  Marcelle,  giving  him  a  piece  of  money, 
*'  show  us  the  way  to  Blanchemont,  if  you  know  it." 

Instead  of  replying,  the  beggar  gravely  continued  to 
repeat  aloud  an  Ave  Maria  in  Latin,  which  he  had  begun 
for  his  own  benefit. 

*  A  hollow  stone,  in  which  each  passing  funeral  leaves,  at  the 
foot  of  the  cross,  a  small  cross  rudely  cut  in  wood. 


THE  MILLER    OF  ANGIBAULT. 


25 


*' Answer,"  said  Lapierre  to  him;  "you  can  mumble 
your  Pater  Nosters  afterwards." 

The  beggar  turned  his  head  scornfully  toward  the  foot- 
man, and  continued  his  prayers. 

"Don't  speak  to  that  man,"  said  the  patachon  ;  "  he  is 
an  old  beggar  tramp,  and  never  knows  where  he  is  going. 
You  meet  him  everywhere,  and  nowhere  in  his  senses." 

"The  road  to  Blancheraont ? "  said  the  mendicant,  when 
lie  had  at  last  finished  his  prayer;  "you  are  not  on  it, 
my  children  ;  you  must  turn,  and  take  the  first  to  the 
right." 

''  Are  you  sure  of  it?"  said  Marcelle. 

"  I  have  been  there  more  than  six  hundred  times.  If 
you  do  not  believe  me,  do  as  you  will ;  it  is  all  the  same 
to  me." 

"  He  seems  to  know  what  he  is  about,"  said  Marcelle 
to  her  driver.  "  Let  us  attend  to  him ;  what  reason 
should  he  have  to  deceive  us  ?  " 

"  Bah  !  the  pleasure  of  doing  harm,"  replied  the  anx- 
ious patachon.     "  I  don't  trust  this  man." 

Marcelle  insisted  upon  following  the  advice  of  the  beg- 
gar, and  soon  the  patache  plunged  into  a  narrow  gully, 
winding,  and  prodigiously  steep.  "  I  say,"  resumed  the 
swearing  patachon,  while  his  horse  stumbled  at  every  step, 
"  that  this  old  cheat  sent  us  wrong." 

"  Go  on,''  said  Marcelle,  "since  there  is  no  way  to  go 
back." 

The  farther  they  advanced,  the  more  impassable  became 
the  road,  but  it  was  too  narrow  to  turn  the  vehicle  ;  two 
splendid  hedges  confined  it  closely.  After  performing 
miracles  of  strength  and  endurance,  the  little  nag  arrived 
at  the  bottom,  under  a  clump  of  old  oaks  which  appeared 
to  be  on  the  border  of  a  wood.  The  road  suddenly 
widened  opposite  a  great  pool  of  standing  water,  not  in 
the  least  resembling  the  ford  of  a  river.  The  patachon, 
nevertheless,  plunged  in,  but  when  half  across  he  sunk  so 
deep  that  he  would  fain  have  turned.  It  was  the  last  ef- 
fort of  his  meagre  Bucephalus.  The  wheels  sank  to  the 
hub,  and  the  animal  fell,  breaking  the  shafts.  It  was 
necessary  to  unharness  him.     Lapierre  stepped  into  the 


26  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 

water  up  to  his  knees,  groaning  like  a  man  at  point  of 
death  ;  but  when  he  had  helped  the  patachon  to  free  the 
horse,  all  their  efforts  were  useless  (neither  of  them  was 
strong)  to  raise  the  carriage.  Then  the  patachon  sprung 
nimbly  on  his  beast,  and  cursing  the  beggar  for  a  wizard, 
and  swearing  by  all  the  devils  below,  he  went  off  at  full 
trot,  promising  to  go  for  help,  but  in  a  tone  which  fore- 
told that  it  would  be  no  weight  on  his  conscience  to  leave 
his  passengers  in  the  swamp  till  morning. 

The  patache  had  not  been  overturned.  Carelessly  tip- 
ped sideways  in  the  marsh,  it  was  still  very  habitable,  and 
Marcelle  arranged  herself  upon  the  back  seat  with  her 
child  lying  in  her  lap,  that  he  might  sleep  comfortably,  for 
Edward  had  long  since  asked  for  his  supper  and  bed,  and, 
having  appeased  his  hunger  on  some  cakes  from  Suzette's 
pocket,  he  needed  no  entreaty  to  begin  his  nap.  Mme.  de 
Blanchemont,  judging  that  her  small  driver  would  not 
hurry  himself  to  return  if  he  found  a  good  resting-place, 
desired  Lapierre  to  go  and  see  if  he  could  not  discover 
some  cabin  near  by.  They  are  so  deep  buried  under 
foliage,  and  so  silent  and  tightly  closed  after  sunset,  that 
one  must  touch  them  to  see  them,  and  take  them  by  as- 
sault to  find  hospitality  at  that  unaccustomed  hour.  Old 
Lapierre  had  but  one  anxiety  —  to  find  a  fire  to  dry  his 
feet  and  keep  off  the  rheumatism  —  and  needed  no  urging 
to  leave  the  morass,  after  having  assured  himself  that  the 
patache,  leaning  against  the  prostrate  trunk  of  an  old  wil- 
low, was  in  no  danger  of  sinking  deeper. 

The  most  forlorn  of  the  party  was  Suzette,  who  was 
horribly  afraid  of  robbers,  wolves,  and  snakes ;  three 
pests  unknown  in  the  Black  Valley,  but  which  are  never 
out  of  the  mind  of  a  lady's  maid  on  a  journey.  Mean- 
while the  easy  composure  of  her  mistress  prevented  her 
from  yielding  aloud  to  her  terror ;  and  nestling,  as  best 
she  could,  upon  the  front  seat,  she  betook  herself  to  silent 
weeping. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Suzette?"  asked  Marcelle,  when 
she  perceived  it. 

"Ah !  madam,"  replied  she,  sobbing,  "do  not  you  hear 


THE  MILLER    OF  ANGIBAULT. 


27 


the  frogs  sing?  They  will  come  upon  us,  and  fill  the 
carriage  —  " 

"And  eat  us  up,  doubtless,"  returned  Mme.  de  Blanche- 
mont,  laughing  outright. 

In  reality,  the  green  dwellers  in  the  morass,  disturbed 
for  an  instant  by  the  fall  of  the  horse  and  the  clamor  of 
the  driver,  had  resumed  their  monotonous  psalmody. 
Dogs  were  also  heard  to  bay  and  howl,  but  from  such  a 
distance  that  they  gave  no  reason  to  count  upon  prompt 
assistance.  The  moon  had  not  yet  risen,  but  the  stars 
shone  on  the  stagnant  water  of  the  marsh,  which  had 
again  become  smooth.  A  soft  breeze  crept  through  the 
tall  reeds  that  grew  in  thick  tufts  on  the  bank. 

"  Come,  Suzette,"  said  Marcelle,  who  had  already 
yielded  herself  to  a  poetic  revery,  "  one  is  not  so  badly 
off  as  I  thought  in  a  swamp,  and,  if  you  choose,  you  will 
sleep  as  if  you  were  in  your  bed." 

"  My  lady  must  have  lost  her  senses,"  thought  Suzette, 
"  to  think  herself  well  off  in  such  a  situation.  O  heaven, 
madam !  "  she  cried,  after  a  moment's  silence,  "it  seems 
to  me  I  hear  a  wolf  howl !  Are  we  not  in  the  midst  of 
a  forest  ?  " 

"The  forest  is  only  a  willow  swamp,  I  believe,"  re- 
plied Marcelle,  "  and  as  for  the  wolf  you  hear  howl,  it  is 
a  man  singing.  If  he  would  come  our  way  he  might  help 
us  to  reach  firm  land." 

"  And  if  it  is  a  robber?  " 

"  In  that  case  it  is  a  kindly  robber,  who  sings  to  warn 
us  to  take  care.  Listen,  Suzette  !  without  jesting,  he  is 
coming  here  ;  the  voice  is  nearer." 

In  reality,  a  voice,  full,  manly,  and  harmonious,  although 
rough  and  untaught,  came  over  the  silent  fields,  with  the 
measured  accompaniment  of  the  slow  and  regular  step  of 
a  horse  ;  but  this  voice  was  still  far  off,  and  there  was  no 
certainty  that  the  singer  was  taking  the  direction  of  the 
swamp,  which  might  be  entirely  impassable.  When  the 
song  was  ended,  whether  it  were  that  the  horse  trod  on 
the  turf,  or  that  the  rider  had  turned  another  way,  noth- 
ing more  was  heard. 

At  this  moment  Suzette,  whose  terrors  were  renewed, 


28  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT, 

saw  a  silent  figure  glide  along  the  pool.  Reflected  in  the 
water,  it  appeared  gigantic.  She  gave  a  cry,  and  the 
figure,  plunging  into  the  marsh,  came  straight  toward  the 
patache,  though  slowly,  and  with  precaution. 

"  Do  not  be  afraid,  Suzette,"  said  Mme.  de  Blanche- 
mont,  herself  now  a  little  uneasy.  "  It  is  the  old  beggar 
we  saw  this  afternoon.  Perhaps  he  will  show  us  a  house 
from  which  we  can  obtain  help.  Friend,"  said  she,  with 
much  presence  of  mind,  "my  servant,  over  there,  will  go 
with  you  if  you  will  show  him  the  way  to  some  house." 

"Thy  servant,  little  one?"  answered  the  mendicant, 
familiarly.  "  He  is  not  there ;  he  is  far  oflT.  And  be- 
sides, he  is  so  old,  so  weak,  and  stupid,  that  he  could  not 
help  thee  here." 

For  once,  Marcelle  was  frightenecL 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 


29 


CHAPTER   IV. 

THE   MORASS. 

'TPHIS  answer  sounded  like  the  rude  threat  of  an  ill- 
■*•  iutentioned  person.  Marcelle  seized  Edward  in  her 
arms,  resolute  to  defend  him  at  the  price  of  her  life,  if 
necessary,  and  she  was  about  to  leap  into  the  water  on 
the  opposite  side  from  that  by  which  the  beggar  was  ap- 
proaching, when  the  rustic  chant  before  heard  was  re- 
sumed in  a  second  couplet,  and  this  time  at  very  little 
distance.     The  beggar  stopped. 

"  We  are  lost !  "  murmured  Suzette.  *'  There  is  the 
rest  of  the  band  coming." 

"  We  are  saved,  on  the  contrary,"  answered  Marcelle. 
"  That  is  an  honest  peasant's  voice." 

In  truth,  the  voice  was  full  of  cheerful  assurance,  and 
the  calm,  clear  song  evidently  came  from  a  good  con- 
science. The  horse's  step  also  came  nearer.  The  coun- 
tryman was  evidently  descending  the  path  leading  to  the 
morass. 

The  mendicant  drew  back  to  the  edge,  and  remained 
motionless,  seeming  to  show  more  prudence  than  fear. 

Marcelle  leaned  out  of  the  patache  to  call  the  rider ; 
but  he  sang  too  loudly  to  hear  her,  and  if  his  horse,  fright- 
ened at  the  sight  of  the  black  mass  that  the  patache  pre- 
sented, had  not  stopped  with  a  snort,  his  master  might 
have  passed  on  without  paying  any  attention  to  it. 

"  What  the  devil  is  there?"  cried,  at  last,  a  stentorian 
voice,  without  a  tone  of  fear,  and  which  Mme.  de  Blanche- 
mont  recognized  immediately  for  that  of  the  tall  miller. 
"  Halloo  there,  friends !  your  carriage  does  not  exactly 
move.     Are  you  all  dead  inside,  that  you  say  nothing .?  " 

When  Suzette  recognized  the  miller,  whose  handsome 


30  THB  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 

physiognomy  had  already  made  an  agreeable  impression 
on  her  that  morning,  she  became  very  gracious,  notwith- 
standing her  slight  toilette.  She  related  the  piteous  con- 
dition to  which  her  mistress  and  herself  were  reduced, 
and  Grand-Louis,  after  laughing  immoderately  at  their 
misadventure,  declared  that  nothing  was  easier  than  to 
deliver  them.  He  began  first  to  free  himself  from  a  large 
sack  of  grain,  which  he  carried  before  him  on  his  horse  ; 
and  perceiving  the  mendicant,  who  seemed  not  to  think 
of  concealment  — 

"  Ah  !  you  are  here  too.  Father  Cadoche  ?  "  said  he,  in 
a  friendly  tone.  "  Stand  aside,  so  that  I  can  fling  down 
my  sack  I  " 

"  I  was  here  trying  to  help  these  poor  children  !  "  re- 
plied the  mendicant ;  "  but  there  is  so  much  water  that  I 
could  not  go  forward." 

"  Stay  quiet,  my  old  man,  and  do  not  wet  yourself  for 
nothing.  At  your  age  it  is  dangerous.  I  can  easily  get 
out  these  women  without  you."  And  he  went  towards 
Mme.  de  Blanchemont,  sinking  up  to  his  horse's  breast  in 
the  mud.  "  Come,  madam,"  said  he  gayly,  "  step  out  a 
little  on  the  shaft,  and  seat  yourself  behind  me  ;  nothing 
is  easier.  You  will  not  even  wet  the  tip  of  your  foot,  for 
your  legs  are  not  as  long  as  those  of  your  humble  servant. 
Your  patachon  must  have  been  a  fool  to  have  mired  you 
here,  when  two  steps  to  the  left  there  are  not  six  inches 
of  mud ! " 

''  I  am  distressed  to  cause  you  such  a  wetting,"  said 
Marcelle  ;  "  but  my  child  —  " 

"  Ah  !  the  little  gentleman  ?  Just  so  !  him  first.  Give 
him  to  me  —  that  is  it  —  here  he  is  in  front  of  me.  Be 
easy,  the  saddle  will  not  hurt  him  ;  neither  my  horse  nor  I 
are  used  to  one.  Come,  sit  behind  me,  my  little  lady, 
and  don't  be  afraid.  Sophie  has  a  strong  back  and  sure 
legs." 

The  miller  gently  placed  the  mother  and  child  upon  the 
turf. 

"  And  me  !  "  cried  Suzette  ;  "  are  you  going  to  leave 
me  in  here?" 

"By  no  means,  mademoiselle,"  said  Grand-Louis,  return- 
ing for  her.     *'  Give  me  your  bundles,  too,  we  will  get  all 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT.  31 

out  —  make  yourself  easy.  And  now,"  said  he,  when  he 
had  effected  the  entire  debarkation,  "  this  unhicky  pat- 
achon  may  come  when  he  will  for  his  carcase  of  a  carriage. 
I  have  neither  shafts  nor  ropes  to  harness  Sophie  to  it, 
but  I  will  take  you  wherever  you  please,  my  little  ladies." 

''  Are  we  very  far  from  Blanchemont  ?  "  asked  Marcelic. 

"  Tiie  deuce  !  yes  !  a  pretty  way  your  patachon  took 
to  get  you  there!  It  is  two  leagues  off;  and  when  you 
arrive  everybody  will  be  in  bed,  and  it  will  be  no  easy 
thing  to  make  them  let  us  in.  But  if  you  will,  we  are 
ouiy  a  short  league  from  my  mill  at  Angibault.  It  is 
not  splendid,  but  clean,  and  my  mother  is  a  good  soul, 
who  will  make  no  fuss  about  getting  up,  putting  white 
sheets  on  the  beds,  and  twisting  a  couple  of  chickens* 
necks.  Will  that  suit  you  ?  No  compliments  !  Come, 
ladies  !  the  fate  of  war,  and  the  fate  of  the  mill !  The 
patache  will  take  no  cold  by  passing  the  night  out  of 
doors,  and  to-morrow  morning  it  shall  be  got  out  and 
cleaned,  and  you  shall  go  to  Blanchemont  at  what  hour 
you  please." 

There  was  cordiality,  and  even  a  kind  of  delicacy,  in  the 
miller's  blunt  invitation,  and  Marcelle,  won  by  his  good- 
heartcdaess,  and  the  mention  he  made  of  his  mother,  ac- 
cepted it  with  gratitude. 

"  That  is  well,  you  will  do  me  a  pleasure,"  said  the 
miller  ;  "  I  do  not  know  you  —  you  may  be  the  lady  of 
Blanchemont — but  that  is  all  one  to  me  ;  were  you  the 
devil  (and  they  say  the  devil  can  look  young  and  pretty 
when  he  will),  I  should  be  happy  to  keep  you  from  pass- 
ing a  bad  night.  Ah  1  so  ;  I  cannot  leave  my  sack  of 
corn  ;  I  will  put  it  on  Sophie,  the  little  one  shall  sit  on 
it,  the  mamma  behind  ;  it  will  not  trouble  you, —  on  the 
contrary,  it  will  be  convenient  to  lean  on.  The  young 
lady  will  walk  with  me,  and  talk  with  Father  Cadoche, 
who  is  not  very  well  dressed,  but  has  plenty  of  wit. 
But  where  has  the  old  lizard  gone?"  said  he,  looking 
around  for  the  vanished  mendicant.  "  Halloo  there, 
Father  Cadoche  !  ai'e  you  coming  to  sleep  at  our  house  ? 
Tie  does  not  answer, —  never  mind,  that  is  not  his  fancy 
for  to-night.     Let  us  start,  ladies  !  " 


32 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT, 


"You  know  this  man,  then?"  said  Marcellc.  "He 
frightened  us  very  much." 

"  I  have  known  him  ever  since  I  was  born.  He  is 
not  a  bad  man.     You  were  wrong  to  fear  him." 

"  He  seemed  to  me,  however,  to  threaten  us,  and  he  did 
not  appear  to  use  the  thee  and  thou  in  a  friendly  manner." 

"  He  said  thee  and  thou  ?  The  old  rogue  !  He  is  not 
bashful,  he  !  But  that  is  his  way  ;  do  not  mind  it ;  he 
is  a  good-hearted  man,  an  original ;  in  short,  he  is 
Father  Cadoche,  called  uncle  by  everybody,  and  who 
promises  his  inheritance  to  every  passer-by,  though  he 
is  as  poor  as  his  own  stick." 

Marcelle  travelled  very  comfortably  upon  the  strong  and 
gentle  Sophie.  Little  Edward,  whom  she  held  close  be- 
fore her,  was  delighted  with  his  ride.  With  his  little 
feet  he  rapped  the  shoulders  of  the  animal,  who  never 
felt  it,  and  went  none  the  quicker,  but  plodded  on  like  a 
true  miller's  horse,  needing  no  guidance,  knowing  her 
way  by  heart,  and  finding  her  path  through  the  darkness, 
amid  water  and  stones,  without  a  mistake  or  a  stumble. 
At  the  desire  of  Marcelle,  who  feared  to  have  her  old  ser- 
vant pass  the  night  in  the  open  air,  the  miller  several 
times  uplifted  his  thundering  voice,  and  Lapierre,  who 
had  lost  himself  in  a  neighboring  wood,  and  had  been  for 
more  than  half  an  hour  describing  circles  within  the 
space  of  an  acre,  soon  rejoined  the  little  caravan. 

After  an  hour's  march,  the  sound  of  water  over  a  dam 
was  heard,  and  the  pale  light  of  the  moon  showed  the 
vine-covered  roof  of  the  mill,  and  the  silvered  banks  of 
the  river,  close  grown  with  mint  and  thyme. 

Marcelle  sprung  lightly  upon  this  fragrant  carpet,  after 
the  miller  had  taken  down  her  boy,  who,  joyful  and 
proud  of  his  equestrian  journey,  threw  his  arms  around 
his  new  friend's  neck,  saying,  "  Good-day,  alochonl" 

As  Grand-Louis  had  predicted,  his  old  mother  rose 
good-naturedly,  and,  with  the  help  of  a  little  servant-girl 
of  fourteen  or  fifteen,  the  beds  were  soon  ready.  Mme. 
de  Blanchemont  had  more  need  of  rest  than  food  ;  she 
prevented  the  old  woman  from  bringing  her  anything  but 
a  cup  of  milk,  and,  exhausted  with  fatigue,  she  slept  with 
her  child  by  her  maternal  side,  in  a  feather  bed  of  im- 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAUL 


33 


moderate  height,  and  exquisite  softness.  These  beds, 
whose  only  fault  is  to  be  too  warm  aud  soft,  compose, 
with  a  full  straw  mattress,  all  the  sleeping  arrangement 
of  the  inhabitants,  rich  or  poor,  of  a  country  where 
geese  abound,  and  where  the  winters  are  very  cold. 

Weary  with  a  very  rapid  journey  of  eighty  leagues,  and 
especially  with  that  part  made  in  the  patache,  which  had 
been,  so  to  speak,  the  crown  of  it,  the  fair  Parisian 
would  gladly  have  slept  late  tlie  next  morning ;  but  it 
was  scarcely  dawn  when  the  crowing  of  cocks,  the 
tic-tac  of  the  mill,  the  loud  voice  of  the  miller,  and  all 
the  sounds  of  rustic  labor,  compelled  her  to  relinquish  a 
longer  repose.  Besides,  Edward,  who  was  not  in  the 
least  tired,  and  was  already  stimulated  by  the  country 
air,  began  to  frisk  upon  his  bed.  Notwithstanding  all 
the  noise  without,  Suzette,  in  the  same  room,  slept  so 
soundly  that  Marcelle  had  not  the  heart  to  wake  her. 
Beginning  then  the  new  kind  of  life  she  had  determined 
to  embrace,  she  rose  and  dressed  herself  without  the 
help  of  her  maid,  completed  with  extreme  pleasure  the 
toilet  of  her  boy,  and  went  out  to  bid  good-morrow  to 
her  hosts.  She  found  only  the  mill-boy  and  the  little 
maid,  who  told  her  that  the  master  and  mistress  had  just 
gone  to  the  end  of  the  field  to  make  ready  the  breakfast. 
Curious  to  know  in  what  these  preparations  consisted, 
Marcelle  crossed  the  rustic  bridge,  which  also  served  as 
gate  to  the  mill-pond,  and  leaving  on  her  right  a  fine 
plantation  of  young  poplars,  she  traversed  the  meadow, 
following  the  course  of  the  river,  or  rather  brook,  which, 
though  always  full  to  the  brim,  and  laving  the  flowering 
grass,  is  here  no  more  than  ten  feet  wide.  This  slender 
watercourse  has,  nevertheless,  a  strong  current,  and  near 
the  mill  forms  quite  a  large  basin,  motionless,  deep,  and 
smooth  as  glass,  in  which  are  reflected  the  ancient  wil- 
lows, and  mossy  roofs  of  the  dwelling.  Marcelle  con- 
templated this  peaceful  and  lovely  scene,  which  answered, 
she  knew  not  why,  to  her  own  heart.  She  had  seen 
more  beautiful  spots,  but  there  are  places  which  insen- 
sibly affect  us  with  unconquerable  emotion,  and  where  we 
feel  as  if  led  by  fate  to  meet  joy,  grief,  or  duty. 

3 


34 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 


CHAPTER   V. 

THE    MILL. 

XT^THEN  Marcelle  made  her  wAy  into  the  deep  wood 
^  ^  where  she  expected  to  find  her  hosts,  she  felt  as  if 
she  were  entering  a  virgin  forest.  The  ravages  of  the 
little  river,  when  swollen  by  the  rainy  season,  had  every- 
where undermined  and  broken  the  ground,  which  wa8 
covered  with  a  heavy  growth  of  trees,  alders,  beeches, 
and  raaguificent  aspens,  half  overthrown,  and  with  their 
enormous  roots  lying  on  the  wet  sand,  like  interlaced  ser- 
pents and  hydras,  leant  over  each  other  in  superb  con- 
fusion. The  numerous  channels  of  the  stream  flowed 
capriciously  around  many  verdant  islands,  where,  upon 
the  dewy  grass,  vigorous  festoons  of  briar  were  entwined 
with  a  hundred  varieties  of  tall  plants  ;  and  all  were  left 
to  the  incomparable  grace  of  their  free  growth.  No 
landscape-garden  could  equal  this  natural  luxuriance,  the 
happily  grouped  masses  of  foliage,  the  numerous  basins 
which  the  river  had  hollowed  for  itself  in  the  sand  and 
among  the  flowers,  the  bowers  meeting  above  the  water, 
the  varied  grace  of  the  banks,  and  the  fallen  branches 
overgrown  with  moss,  which  looked  as  if  thrown  there 
to  complete  the  beauty  of  the  whole.  Marcelle  was  lost 
in  a  kind  of  rapture,  and  would  have  forgotten  herself 
and  the  passing  time,  but  for  her  little  Edward,  who  ran 
before  her  like  a  freed  fawn,  eager  to  make  the  print  of 
his  tiny  feet  on  the  smooth  sand  by  the  water.  But  the 
fear  that  he  might  fall  in  aroused  her  ;  and,  following  his 
steps,  and  burying  herself  deeper  and  deeper  in  the  en- 
chanted wilderness,  she  felt  as  if  in  one  of  those  dreams 
where  nature  appears  to  us  in  such  absolute  beauty,  that 
we  are  sometimes  ready  to  say  we  have  seen  the  earthly 
paradise. 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 


35 


At  length  the  miller  and  his  mother  appeared  on  the 
opposite  bank  —  one  fishing  for  trout,  the  other  milking 
her  cow. 

"Ah!  ah!  my  little  lady,  already  up?"  said  the 
miller.  "You  see  we  are  busy  for  you.  Here  is  my  old 
mother  tormenting  herself  because  she  has  nothing  good 
to  offer  you ;  but  as  for  me,  I  say  that  you  will  be  con- 
tented with  our  good  heart.  We  are  neither  cooks  nor 
tavern-keepers ;  but  when  there  is  good  appetite  on  one 
side,  and  good  will  on  the  other  —  " 

"You  treat  me  a  hundred  times  too  well,  you  kind 
people,"  answered  Marcelle,  venturing,  with  Edward  in 
her  arms,  upon  the  plank  which  served  as  bridge  to  where 
they  stood.  "I  have  never  passed  so  good  a  night,  nor 
seen  so  lovely  a  morning,  as  here.  What  fine  trout  you 
are  taking,  Mr.  Miller !  And  you,  mother,  what  beau- 
tiful, white,  foaming  milk !  You  spoil  me,  and  I  know 
not  how  to  thank  you." 

"We  are  thanked  enough  if  you  are  pleased,"  said  the 
old  woman,  with  a  smile.  "We  never  see  such  fine  peo- 
ple as  you,  and  we  do  not  know  much  about  compliments, 
but  we  see  plainly  that  you  are  kind,  and  not  exacting. 
Come,  come  to  the  house !  the  cakes  will  soon  be  done, 
and  the  little  one  surely  likes  strawberries.  There  is  a 
place  in  the  garden  where  he  will  like  to  pick  them  him- 
self." 

"You  are  so  good,  and  your  country  is  so  beautiful, 
that  I  should  like  to  pass  my  life  here,"  said  Marcelle, 
impulsively. 

"  So  ?  "  said  the  miller,  smiling  good-naturedly.  "Well ! 
if  the  heart  tells  you — you  see,  mother,  that  our  country 
is  not  so  ugly  as  you  think.  Did  not  I  tell  you  that  a 
rich  person  might  find  it  agreeable?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  old  woman,  "if  a  chateau  were  built 
here,  and  then  it  would  be  a  chateau  very  ill-placed." 

"Is  it  possible  that  you  are  discontented  here?"  said 
Marcelle,  in  astonishment. 

"  Oh  !  I  am  not  at  all  discontented,"  replied  the  miller's 
mother.  "I  have  passed  my  life  here,  and  I  shall  die 
here,  if  it  please  God.     I  have  had  time  to  get  used  to  it, 


36  THE  MILLER  OF  ANGIBAULT, 

in  seventy-five  years  that  I  have  reigned  here  ;  and  be- 
sides, one  needs  must  content  one's  self  with  one's  o^vn 
country.  But  if  you  were  to  pass  a  winter  here,  madam, 
you  would  not  call  it  beautiful, —  when  all  our  fields  are 
under  water,  and  we  cannot  even  step  into  our  yard  ;  no, 
no,  it  is  not  pleasant ! " 

*'Bah!  bah!  women  are  always  frightened,"  said 
Grand-Louis.  "You  know  that  the  water  will  not  carry 
away  the  house,  and  that  the  mill  is  well  insured.  And 
then,  one  must  take  the  bad  weather  as  it  comes.  All 
winter  you  want  summer,  mother,  and  all  summer  you 
do  nothing  but  fret  about  the  coming  winter.  I  tell  you 
ttat  one  might  live  here  without  care  or  trouble." 

"And  why  dost  thou  not  do  so?"  returned  the  mother. 
**  Art  thou  without  care  thyself?  Dost  thou  like  to  be  a 
miller,  and  to  have  thy  house  so  often  under  water  ?  Ah  ! 
if  I  were  to  tell  all  thou  sayst  sometimes  upon  the  mis- 
fortune of  having  a  poor  house,  and  not  making  money  !  '* 

"  There  is  no  use  in  repeating  all  the  nonsense  that  I 
talk  sometimes,  mother,  you  need  not  take  the  trouble." 
But,  while  speaking  thus  reproachfully,  the  tall  miller 
looked  at  his  mother  with  affectionate,  and  almost  suppli- 
cating gentleness.  Their  conversation  did  not  appear  sc 
commonplace  to  Mme.  de  Blanchemout,  as  it  may  have 
done  to  the  reader.  In  her  present  state  of  mind,  she  was 
desirous  to  know  how  those  who  were  obliged  to  lead  a 
rustic  life  —  always  the  easiest  for  the  poor — felt  and  ap- 
preciated it.  She  was  not  examining  and  testing  it  by 
merely  romantic  notions.  Henri's  doubt  of  her  ability  to 
embrace  it,  had  made  her  feel  its  real  privations  and  trials. 
But  she  believed  her  courage  equal  to  these  trials,  and 
what  she  hoped  to  learn  from  the  opinion  of  her  hosts  of 
the  mill,  was  the  degree  in  which  the  philosophy  or  insen- 
sibility, given  them  by  nature,  would  compare  with  that 
which  she  could  gather  from  poetic  feeling,  and  the  yet 
more  religious  and  powerful  sentiment  of  love.  Thus  she 
manifested  some  curiosity  when  Grand-Louis  had  gone  to 
fry  his  trout,  as  he  said,  in  the  stove. 

"So  then,"  she  said  to  the  old  woman,  "you  are  not 


THE  MILLER    OF  ANGIBAULT. 


37 


happy ;  and  even  your  son,  notwithstanding  his  cheerful 
manner,  worries  sometimes?" 

"Eh,  madam!  as  for  me,"  replied  the  good  woman, 
"I  should  be  rich  enough,  and  contented  enough,  if  I  saw 
my  son  happy.  My  poor  husband  was  well  enough  off; 
his  business  was  good  ;  but  he  died  before  he  could  bring 
up  his  family,  and  I  have  had  to  do  the  best  I  could  for 
all  my  children.  Now  each  one's  share  is  small ;  the  mill 
came  to  my  Louis,  who  is  called  Grand-Louis,  as  they 
called  his  father  Grand-Jean,  and  as  they  call  mc  Grand'- 
Marie.  For,  God  helping,  our  family  makes  a  fine 
growth,  and  all  my  children  were  of  good  size.  But  that 
is  the  most  we  have  ;  the  rest  is  so  little,  that  it  is  riot 
enough  to  raise  false  hopes." 

"But,  after  all,  why  would  you  have  more?  Do  you 
suffer  from  poverty  ?  It  seems  to  me  you  are  well  lodged  ; 
your  bread  is  good,  your  health  excellent." 

"Yes,  yes,  thanks  to  the  good  God,  we  have  what  is 
needful,  and  many  people  better  than  we  have  not  so 
much  ;  but  you  see,  madam,  happiness  or  unhappiness  it 
is  according  to  one's  ideas  —  " 

"There  you  have  the  real  question,"  said  Marcelle, 
who  observed  good  sense  and  natural  discrimination  in 
both  the  physiognomy  and  words  of  her  companion  ;  "but 
since  you  appreciate  it  so  well,  how  comes  it  that  you 
complain?" 

"It  is  not  I  who  complain,  it  is  my  Louis  !  or  rather, 
it  is  I  who  fret,  because  I  see  him  unhappy  ;  and  it  is  he 
who  does  not  fret,  because  he  is  brave,  and  afraid  of 
troubling  me.  But  sometimes,  too,  when  the  poor  boy  is  too 
sad,  he  will  say  just  one  word  that  goes  to  my  heart.  He 
will  say,  '  Never ^  never ^  mother  ! '  and  that  means  that  he 
has  given  up  all  hope.  And  then,  afterwards,  as  he  is 
naturally  lively,  like  his  poor  dear  father,  he  will  seem  to 
make  himself  easy,  and  tell  me  all  sorts  of  stories,  either 
to  comfort  me,  or  because  he  fancies  that  what  he  takes 
into  his  head  will  really  happen  in  time." 

"But  what  has  he  taken  into  his  head?  Is  he  am- 
bitious?" 

"Oh  yes,  he  has  a  great  ambition,  —  a  real  madness  J 


38  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT, 

but  it  is  not  the  love  of  money  ;  for  he  is  no  miser,  not 
he !  In  the  division  of  the  property  he  gave  his  brothers 
and  sisters  all  they  wanted,  and  when  he  earns  a  little, 
he  is  ready  to  give  it  to  the  first  who  needs  ;  and  it  is  not 
vanity,  for  he  always  wears  his  peasant  clothes,  though 
he  has  had  an  education,  and  might  go  as  well  dressed  as 
a  bourgeois;  and  it  is  not  bad  company,  nor  extrav- 
agance, for  he  is  contented  with  everything,  and  never 
wants  to  go  anywhere  but  on  business." 

•*Well,  then,  what  is  it?"  said  Marcelle,  whose  sweet 
face  and  cordial  tone  insensibly  drew  out  the  old  woman's 
confidence. 

"Ah,  and  what  should  it  be  but  love?"  said  the  mil- 
ler's mother,  with  a  mysterious  smile,  and  an  indescribable 
and  delicate  air  of  insight,  which,  in  matters  of  sentiment, 
establishes  an  electric  chain  of  freedom  and  interest  be- 
tween women  of  every  age  and  rank. 

''You  are  right,"  said  Marcelle,  drawing  nearer  to 
Grand'-Marie ;  "  love  is  the  great  disturber  of  youth. 
And  is  the  woman  he  loves  richer  than  he  ? " 

"Oh  !  it  is  not  a  woman  !  my  poor  Louis  is  too  hon 
orable  to  think  of  a  married  woman  !  It  is  a  girl,  a 
young  girl,  a  pretty  girl,  by  my  faith,  and  a  good  girl,  I 
must  allow.  But  she  is  rich  —  rich  ;  and,  think  of  it  as 
much  as  we  may,  her  parents  will  never  give  her  to  a 
miller." 

Marcelle  was  struck  by  the  similarity  between  the  mil- 
ler's romance  and  that  of  her  own  life,  and  felt  curious 
and  interested. 

"  If  this  good  and  pretty  girl  loves  your  son,"  said  she, 
"  she  will  marry  him  in  the  end." 

"So  I  tell  myself  sometimes,  for  she  does  love  him, 
madam,  as  I  am  sure,  though  my  Louis  is  not.  She  is 
a  prudent  girl,  and  would  not  tell  a  man  she  would  marry 
him  against  her  parents'  will ;  and  then  she  is  very  gay, 
and  a  little  coquettish  ;  that  is  natural  at  her  age  —  she  is 
o'^^X-SisliM.^H  •  Her  little  mocking  ways  make  my  poor 
boy  desperate  ;  so  to  comfort  him,  when  I  see  that  he  does 
not  eat,  and  talks  loud  to  Sophie  (our  mare,  saving  your 
presence),  I  cannot  help  telling  him  ivhat  I  think ;  and 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT.  3c) 

he  believes  me  a  little,  for  he  sees  that  I  know  more  than 
he  about  women's  hearts.  Now  I  see  plainly  that  she 
blushes  when  she  meets  him,  and  when  she  passes  our 
house,  she  looks  round  for  him  ;  yet  it  is  not  right  to  tell 
my  boy  so,  for  it  keeps  up  his  madness,  and  I  had  much 
better  tell  him  that  he  must  not  think  of  it." 

"Why  so?"  asked  Marcelle.  "Love  is  all-powerful. 
Be  sure,  good  mother,  that  a  loving  woman  is  stronger 
than  all  obstacles." 

"Yes,  so  I  thought  when  I  was  young.  I  said  to  my- 
self that  woman's  love  was  like  the  river,  breaking  all 
away  where  it  comes,  and  laughing  at  bars  and  dikes.  I 
myself  was  richer  than  my  poor  Grand-Jean,  yet  I  mar- 
ried him.  But  there  was  not  the  same  difference  as 
between  us  now  and  Mademoiselle  — " 

She  was  interrupted  by  little  Edward  calling  to  his 
mother. 

"  See !     Henri  is  here !  *' 


40 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 


CHAPTER    VL 

A  NAME   ON  A  TREE. 

TV/TME.  DE  BLANCHEMONT  started,  and  hardly  re- 
^^^  pressed  a  scream,  as  she  looked  around  for  the  cause 
of  her  child's  exclamation.  Following  the  direction  of  his 
looks  and  gestures,  she  saw  a  name  cut  with  a  knife  on 
the  bark  of  a  tree.  The  boy  had  just  begun  to  read,  and 
knew  certain  words ;  familiar  names,  perhaps  taught  to 
him  by  preference.  He  had  recognized  that  of  Henri  in- 
scribed upon  the  smooth  stem  of  a  white  poplar,  and  he 
fancied  that  his  friend  had  just  traced  it.  Carried  away 
by  her  child's  imagination,  Marcelle  really  expected  for 
some  moments  to  see  Henri  Lemor  appear  from  among 
the  alders  and  aspens.  Short  reflection  was  needed  to 
make  her  smile  sadly  at  her  easy  credulity,  and  yet,  as 
even  a  vain  hope  is  hard  to  relinquish,  she  could  not 
help  asking  Grand'-Marie  which  of  her  family  or  neigh- 
bors was  named  Henri. 

*'  None  that  I  know,"  answered  she.  "  To  be  sure  there 
is  a  family  called  Henri  in  the  town  of  Nohant,  but  they 
arc  people  like  me,  and  don't  know  how  to  write  on  paper 
or  trees  —  unless  the  son  should  have  come  back  from  the 
army  —  but  goodness  !  it  is  more  than  two  years  since  he 
was  here." 

"  Then  you  do  not  know  who  can  have  written  this 


name 


''  I  did  not  even  know  there  was  anything  written  there. 
I  never  paid  any  attention  to  it.  And  if  I  had  seen  it,  I 
don't  know  how  to  read.  I  might  have  been  well  taught, 
but  it  was  not  the  fashion  in  my  time.  They  made  a  cross 
upon  deeds  instead  of  a  signature,  and  it  was  just  as  good 
in  law." 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 


41 


The  miller  now  came  back  to  say  that  breakfast  was 
ready.  He  could  read  and  write,  and  seeing  Marcelle's 
attention  fixed  upon  this  name,  which  he  had  not  before 
observed,  he  tried  to  explain. 

"  I  see  nobody  but  the  man  we  had  here  the  other  day 
who  could  have  amused  himself  in  this  way,"  said  he, 
'*  for  there  are  no  city  people  come  here." 

"And  what  man  was  here  the  other  day?"  said  Mar 
celle,  trying  to  seem  indifferent. 

"  The  gentleman  did  not  tell  us  his  name,"  replied  the 
old  woman.  "  We  do  not  know  much,  and  yet  we  know 
it  is  not  polite  to  be  inquisitive.  Louis  is  like  me  in  that, 
and  though  our  country  people  ask  all  sorts  of  questions 
of  every  stranger  they  meet,  we  never  desire  to  know 
more  than  others  desire  to  tell  us.  The  gentleman  seemed 
to  wish  to  keep  his  name  and  intentions  to  himself." 

"  He  asked  plenty  of  questions,  however,  that  chap," 
observed  Grand-Louis,  "  and  we  might  fairly  have  ques- 
tioned him  in  our  turn.  I  don't  know"  why  I  did  not  dare 
There  was  nothing  repulsive  about  him,  and  I  am  not 
particularly  bashful ;  but  he  had  an  odd  look,  quite  sad 
to  see." 

"  What  kind  of  look?"  asked  Marcelle,  whose  curiosity 
and  interest  increased  at  each  word. 

" I  can  hardly  tell  you,"  replied  he  ;  "I  did  not  observe 
it  much  while  he  was  here,  but  when  he  was  gone,  I  be- 
gan to  think  of  it.     Do  you  remember,  mother?" 

"  Yes,  thou  saidst  to  me,  '  See,  mother,  here  is  one 
like  me,  who  has  not  all  he  wants.'  " 

*'  Ball !  bah !  I  did  not  say  that,"  returned  Grand- 
Louis,  fearing  for  his  secret,  and  not  suspecting  that  his 
mother  had  already  revealed  it.  "I  only  said,  '  Here  is 
one  who  does  not  appear  glad  to  live.' " 

Marcelle  was  touched.  "Was  he  so  very  sad?"  she 
asked. 

"  He  seemed  to  think  a  great  deal.  He  staid  here 
alone  at  least  three  hours,  sitting  on  the  ground  just 
where  you  are  now,  and  gazing  at  the  river,  as  if  he 
would  count  each  drop  that  passed.  I  thought  he  was 
sick,  and  I  came  twice  to  ask  him  to  come  into  the  house 


42 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 


and  refresh  himself.  When  I  came  near,  he  sprang  up  like 
a  man  just  waked,  and  looked  vexed.  Then  all  at  once 
his  face  was  very  sweet  and  gentle,  and  he  thanked  me, 
but  he  would  take  nothing  but  a  bit  of  bread  and  a  glass 
of  water." 

"  It  is  Henri !  "  cried  Edward,  who,  clinging  to  his 
mother's  gown,  had  attentively  listened.  "  Thou  know- 
est,  mamma,  that  Henri  never  drinks  wine  ! " 

Mme.  de  Blanchemont  blushed,  turned  pale,  blushed 
again,  and  in  a  voice  which  she  vainly  tried  to  steady, 
asked  what  this  stranger  had  been  doing  in  the  country. 

"I  know  nothing  about  it,"  replied  the  miller,  who 
thought  to  himself,  as  he  fixed  his  penetrating  look  upon 
the  beautiful  and  changing  countenance  of  the  young 
baroness,  "  here  is  still  another  with  a  busy  thought, 
like  me ! " 

And  desirous  to  satisfy  Marcelle's  curiosity  about  the 
stranger,  and  his  own  as  to  the  sentiments  of  his  guest, 
he  gratified  her  anxious  expectation  by  entering  upon  the 
following  details. 

The  stranger  had  come  on  foot,  about  a  fortnight  pre- 
vious. For  two  days  he  had  wandered  about  the  Black 
Valley,  and  then  disappeared.  Nobody  knew  where  he 
passed  the  nights ;  the  miller  supposed  in  the  open  air. 
He  did  not  seem  to  have  much  money.  He  had  offered, 
notwithstanding,  to  pay  for  his  slight  repast  at  the  mill, 
but,  upon  the  miller's  refusal,  he  had  thanked  him  with  the 
simplicity  of  a  man  not  too  proud  to  accept  hospitality 
from  one  of  his  own  class.  He  was  dressed  neatly,  like  a 
workman,  or  a  country  bourgeois,  in  a  blouse  and  a  straw 
hat.  He  carried  a  small  knapsack  on  his  shoulder,  from 
which  he  now  and  then  took  out  paper,  and  seemed  to  be 
making  notes.  He  said  he  had  been  at  Blanchemont,  but 
nobody  there  had  seen  him.  Yet  he  spoke  of  the  farm  and 
the  old  chateau  like  a  man  who  had  examined  everything. 
While  eating  his  bread  and  drinking  his  water,  he  had 
asked  the  miller  many  questions  aboul  the  extent  of  the 
estate,  its  mortgages,  the  character  and  reputation  of  the 
farmer,  about  the  expenditures  of  the  late  M.  de  Blanche- 
mont, about  his  other  estates,  etc.,  so  that  at  the  mill 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 


43 


tliey  had  concluded  him  to  be  an  agent  sent  by  some  pur- 
chaser, to  collect  information  and  ascertain  the  quality  of 
the  land. 

"  For  it  seems  that  the  estate  of  Blanchemont  is  to  be 
offered  for  sale,  if  it  is  not  already,"  added  the  miller,  who 
was  not  altogether  so  free  from  the  fever  of  curiosity 
prevalent  among  the  neighboring  peasants  as  his  mother 
presumed  him. 

Marcelle,  agitated  by  a  very  different  solicitude, 
scarcely  heard  this  last  observation. 

"  How  old  might  this  stranger  be?"  she  asked. 

"  If  I  could  trust  to  his  face,"  said  the  miller's  mother, 
*'  about  as  old  as  Louis, —  near  twenty-three  or  four." 

"And  —  how  was  his  face  ?  Was  he  dark,  of  middling 
height?" 

'^  lie  was  not  tall,  and  he  was  not  fair,"  said  the  miller ; 
"  his  face  was  not  ill-looking,  but  pale,  as  if  he  were  in 
poor  health." 

"  That  might  be  Henri,"  thought  Marcelle,  although 
this  rude  portrait  poorly  answered  to  the  ideal  in  her 
heart. 

"  He  is  no  man  to  be  cheated  in  business,"  resumed 
Grand-Louis  ;  "  for  to  pleasure  M.  Bricolin,  the  Blanche- 
mont farmer  who  wants  to  buy  the  estate,  and  to  plague 
him  a  little,  I  diverted  myself  with  undervaluing  the 
property,  but  the  fellow  had  his  eyes  open.  The  estate, 
says  he,  is  worth  so  and  so  ;  and  he  counted  on  his  fin- 
gers the  income,  the  costs,  and  the  expenses,  like  one  at 
home  in  the  matter,  and  with  no  need  of  long  words  and 
much  wine,  our  country  fashion,  to  see  the  long  and  short 
of  a  thing." 

"  Goto  —  I  am  wild,"  thought Mme.  de  Blanchemont ; 
"  this  stranger  is  the  first  comel'  —  some  clerk  charged  with 
country  investments —  and  his  appearance  of  melancholy 
and  revery  on  the  bank  were  simply  the  consequences 
of  heat  and  fatigue.  Even  if  it  be  he  who  cut  the  name 
of  Henri,  it  is  very  possibly  his  own.  Henri  never  took 
thought  of  business,  never  knew  the  value  of  any  prop- 
erty, or  the  source  and  management  of  any  of  this  world's 
riches.     No,  no,  it  is  not  he.     Besides,  was  he  not  at 


44 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT, 


Paris  a  fortnij!;ht  ago  ?  It  is  only  three  days  since  I  saw 
bim,  and  he  did  not  tell  me  that  he  had  lately  been  away. 
What  should  have  brought  him  to  the  Black  Valley? 
Did  he  even  know  that  the  estate  of  Blauchemout,  of 
which  I  never  remember  to  have  spoken  to  him,  was 
situated  in  this  province?" 

She  turned  her  mind,  not  without  effort,  from  the  mys- 
terious inscription  which  had  so  much  excited  it,  and  follow- 
ing her  host  to  the  house,  she  found  an  excellent  breakfast 
spread  upon  a  massive  table,  covered  with  a  snow-white 
cloth.  There  was  frumenty,  the  favorite  dish  in  that 
province,  a  kind  of  paste  made  of  grain  soaked  in  water 
and  dressed  with  milk,  preserved  pears  with  spiced  cream, 
trout  from  the  Vauvre,  broiled  chickens,  lean  and  tender, 
salad  with  nut  oil,  and  scarcely  ripe  fruit,  all  which 
seemed  delicious  to  Edward.  Plates  were  set  for  the  two 
servants,  and  the  two  hosts,  at  the  same  table  with  Mme. 
de  Blanchemont,  and  the  old  woman  was  much  amazed  a! 
the  refusal  of  Lapierre  and  Suzette  to  sit  beside  their  mis- 
tress. Marcelle,  however,  insisted  that  they  should  con- 
form to  the  habits  of  the  country,  and  merrily  entered 
upon  that  life  of  equality,  the  thought  of  which  was  so 
agreeable  to  her.  The  miller's  bearing  was  rough,  frank, 
but  never  coarse.  The  manners  of  his  mother  were 
rather  more  obsequious ;  and,  in  spite  of  the  remon- 
strances of  Grand-Louis,  in  whom  good  sense  supplied  the 
want  of  good  breeding,  she  almost  persecuted  her  guests 
to  eat  more  than  sufficed  to  their  appetite,  but  her  ur- 
gency was  so  sincere,  that  Marcelle  did  not  think  of  find- 
ing fault  with  it.  There  was  both  heart  and  sense  in 
this  old  woman,  and  her  son  resembled  her  in  both 
respects.  He  had,  besides,  a  good  elementary  education. 
He  had  been  through  the  primary  schools,  and  had  read 
and  understood  much  more  than  he  was  in  haste  to  show. 
Marcelle  found,  on  talking  with  him,  greater  accuracy  of 
thought,  and  more  sense  and  natural  taste,  than  she  had  ex- 
pected the  evening  before  from  the  "tall  miller"  whom  she 
met  at  the  inn.  All  this  was  so  much  the  more  valuable, 
because,  far  from  the  vanity  of  showing  it  off,  he  even 
affected   a  clownish  rounjhness   of  manner.     His   chief 


i 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT.  45 

fear  seemed  to  be  to  pass  for  a  village  wonder ;  and  he 
had  a  settled  contempt  for  pretension  —  for  people  who  try 
to  set  themselves  above  their  honest  birth  and  respect- 
able condition.  His  language  was  usually  correct, 
though  he  liked  to  introduce  the  easy  and  picturesque 
provincialisms  of  his  district.  "When  he  quite  forgot 
himself,  he  talked  with  perfect  ease,  and  no  trace  was  left 
of  the  miller ;  but  soon,  as  if  ashamed  of  this  departure 
from  his  sphere,  he  would  resume  his  harmless  pleasant- 
ries and  unpresuming  familiarity. 

With  all  this,  Marcelle  was  somewhat  embarrassed 
when  the  patachon  came,  about  seven  o'clock,  to  take 
her  directions.  She  desired,  when  she  took  leave  of 
her  entertainers,  to  pay  for  the  expense  to  which  she  had 
put  them,  but  they  refused  to  receive  anything. 

''No,  my  dear  lady,  no,"  said  the  miller  to  her  in  a 
quiet  but  firm  voice  ;  "we  are  not  innkeepers.  We  might 
be,  and  it  would  not  be  beneath  us.  But  as  we  are  not, 
we  will  take  nothing  from  you." 

"  Nay,"  said  Marcelle,  "  will  you  not  permit  me  to  in- 
demnify you  for  all  the  disturbance  and  expense  I  have 
made  you?  for  I  know  that  your  mother  gave  me  her 
chamber,  and  took  your  bed,  while  you  slept  in  the  barn  on 
the  hay.  You  left  your  work  this  morning  to  go  and  fish. 
Your  mother  heated  the  oven,  took  considerable  trouble, 
and  we  must  have  made  quite  a  hole  in  your  larder." 

"Oh,  my  mother  slept  very  well,  and  I  still  better," 
replied  Grand-Louis.  "  Trout  cost  me  nothing  from  the 
Vauvre,  and  to-day  is  Sunday,  when  I  always  fish  all 
the  morning.  A  little  flour,  bread,  and  milk,  with  some 
poor  poultry,  which  served  for  your  breakfast,  will  not 
ruin  us.  So  the  service  is  nothing  great,  and  you  can 
accept  it  without  uneasiness.  We  shall  never  cast  it  up 
to  you,  especially  as  we  may  never  see  you  again." 

"  I  hope  that  you  will,"  replied  Marcelle,  "  for  I  in- 
tend staying  some  days,  at  least,  at  Blanchemont,  and  I 
should  like  to  return  and  thank  your  mother  and  yourself 
for  your  cordial  hospitality,  which  I  am  still  rather 
ashamed  to  accept." 

"  And  why  be  ashamed  to  take  a  little  service  from 


46  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT, 

honest  folks  ?  If  you  are  pleased  with  our  good-will,  all 
is  even.  I  know  that,  in  cities,  everything,  to  a  cup  of 
water,  is  paid  for.  It  is  a  poor  way,  and  here  in  the 
country  we  should  be  badly  off  if  we  did  not  help  one  an- 
other.    Pray,  then,  say  no  more  about  it." 

"  Then  you  would  not  like  to  have  me  come  again  and 
ask  for  some  breakfast?  You  will  force  me  to  deny  my- 
self that  pleasure,  or  feel  myself  encroaching  upon  you  ?  " 

"  That  is  another  affair.  We  have  only  done  our  duty 
in  showing  you  what  you  call  hospitality,  for  we  have  been 
brought  up  to  look  upon  it  as  a  duty ;  and  although  the 
good  custom  is  passing  away,  and  nowadays  poor  peo- 
ple, without  asking  to  be  paid  for  such  little  services,  take 
pretty  much  all  that  is  given  them,  it  is  neither  my 
mother's  judgment  nor  mine  to  change  old  customs  when 
they  are  good.  If  there  had  been  a  tolerable  inn  here- 
abouts, 1  would  have  taken  you  there  last  night,  thinking 
you  would  be  better  off  than  with  us,  and  seeing  that  you 
were  able  to  pay  for  what  you  wanted.  But  there  was 
none,  good  or  bad  ;  and  unless  I  had  been  a  brute,  I  could 
not  have  let  you  pass  the  night  out  of  doors.  Do  you 
think  I  would  have  asked  you  to  my  house  if  I  had 
thought  of  letting  you  pay  ?  No  ;  for,  as  I  tell  you,  I  am  no 
innkeeper.    See,  there  is  no  sign  or  bush  over  our  door  ! " 

"  I  ought  to  have  observed  tliat  at  first,"  said  Marcelle, 
"  and  shown  more  discretion  in  my  conduct  here.  But 
what  do  you  say  to  my  question  ?  You  do  not  wish  me 
to  return  ?  " 

'*  That  is  another  affair.  I  invite  you  to  come  back 
whenever  you  please.  The  place  suits  you,  and  your 
little  boy  likes  our  cakes,  w^hich  makes  me  bold  to  say 
that  you  will  do  us  a  pleasure  whenever  you  come." 

"  And  will  you  oblige  me,  as  you  have  to-day,  to  take 
all  gratis  f  " 

"  When  I  invite  you  ?     Did  I  express  myself  so  badly  ?  " 

*••  And  you  do  not  see  that  this  seems  to  me  like  taking 
too  much  advantage  of  your  kindness  ?  " 

"  No,  I  do  not  see  it.  When  one  is  invited,  one  makes 
use  of  one's  right  to  accept." 

''  Come,"  said  Mme.  de  Blanchemont,  "  I  see  that  you 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 


47 


have  true  politeness,  a  thing  not  to  be  had  in  our  world. 
You  have  taught  me  that  the  caution  and  reticence  of 
which  we  boast,  and  which  are  unhappily  so  necessary 
in  society,  have  taken  such  high  place  only  since  kindness 
has  changed  into  compliment,  and  good-breeding  is  no 
longer  the  expression  of  real  sympathy." 

"  You  say  well,"  answered  the  miller,  his  face  lit  up  with 
a  ray  of  quick  intelligence  ;  "  and  by  my  honest  faith,  I 
am  very  glad  to  have  had  the  opportunity  to  oblige  you  !  " 

"  If  so,  you  will  allow  me  to  receive  you  in  my  turn 
when  you  come  to  Blanchemont  ?  " 

"  Ah  1  pardon  me  !  but  I  shall  not  go  to  your  house.  I 
shall  go,  as  I  often  do,  to  carry  grain  to  your  farmers,  and 
I  shall  simply  have  the  pleasure  of  bowing  to  you." 

"  Ah  !  ah  !  Monsieur  Louis,  then  you  will  not  break- 
fast with  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  no.  I  eat  often  with  your  tenants ;  but 
there  would  be  a  difference,  if  you  were  there.  You  are 
a  noble  lady  —  enough." 

"  Explain  —  I  do  not  understand." 

"  Well,  then,  have  you  not  preserved  the  habits  of  the  old 
nobility  ?  Should  you  not  send  your  miller  to  the  kitchen 
to  eat  with  your  servants,  and  certainly  without  your  com- 
pany? Now  I  have  no  objection  myself  to  eating  with 
them,  since  I  did  the  same  thing  to-day  in  my  own  house  ; 
but  it  would  seem  odd  to  me  that  you  should  have  sat  at 
ray  table,  and  I  could  not  sit  at  yours,  or  draw  my  chair 
by  your  own,  in  your  chimney-corner.  The  fact  is,  I  am 
rather  proud.  I  should  not  blame  you  —  each  one  has  his 
own  way  of  thinking  and  acting  —  and  for  that  very 
reason  I  do  not  choose  to  go  where  I  should  be  obliged  to 
yield  to  that  of  another." 

Marcelle  was  much  struck  with  the  miller's  good  sense 
and  sincere  hardihood.  She  felt  that  he  had  given  her  a 
valuable  lesson,  and  she  rejoiced  inwardly  that  her  new 
theory  of  life  permitted  her  to  receive  it  unabashed. 

"  Monsieur  Louis,"  she  said,"  you  are  mistaken  with  re- 
gard to  me.  That  I  am  of  the  nobility  is  not  my  fault ; 
but  it  so  happens  that,  by  chance  or  good  fortune,  I  no 
longer  wish  to  conform  to  its  customs.     If  you  come  to 


48  THB  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 

see  me,  I  shall  not  forget  that  you  received  me  us  your 
equal  and  served  me  as  your  neighbor ;  and  if  it  be  neces- 
sary to  show  you  that  I  am  not  ungrateful,  I  will  myself 
set  yours  and  your  mother*s  place  at  my  table,  as  you 
have  set  mine  at  yours." 

"  Would  you  really  do  that  ? "  said  the  miller,  fixing 
his  eyes  on  Marcelle  with  a  mixture  of  surprise,  respect- 
ful doubt,  and  familiar  sympathy.  "  If  so,  I  will  go  — 
or  rather,  no,  I  will  not  go,  for  I  can  see  that  you  are 
really  kind  and  good." 

"  I  cannot  tell  what  you  mean  by  that  last  observation." 

"Faith!  if  you  do  not  understand  —  I  hardly  know 
how  to  express  myself  better." 

"  Come,  Louis,  I  think  thou  art  crazy,"  said  old  Marie, 
who  had  been  gravely  knitting  through  all  this  conver- 
sation. "  I  do  not  know  where  thou  hast  picked  up  all 
that  thou  say  est  to  our  lady.  Your  pardon,  madam, 
the  boy  is  a  care-for-nought,  and  has  always  come  right 
out  to  everybody,  great  and  small,  with  all  that  he  hap- 
pened to  think.  You  must  not  be  angry  with  him.  Be- 
lieve me,  he  has  a  good  heart  at  bottom,  and  would  this 
minute,  I  see  by  his  face,  fling  himself  into  the  fire  for 
you." 

"  Not  so  sure  of  the  fire,"  said  the  miller,  laughing ; 
"  but  into  the  water  —  my  element.  You  can  easily  sec, 
mother,  that  the  lady  is  a  woman  of  sense,  and  one  can 
say  what  one  thinks  to  her.  I  say  it  even  to  M.  Bric- 
olin,  her  farmer,  who  is  certainly  much  more  to  be  feared 
here  than  she  !  " 

"  Say  it  out,  then.  Master  Louis  !  I  desire  information. 
Why  would  not  you  come  to  visit  me  because  I  am  kind 
and  good  ?  " 

"  Because  it  would  be  wrong  in  us  to  make  ourselves 
familiar  with  you,  and  wrong  in  you  to  treat  us  as  equalsi 
It  would  subject  you  to  many  disagreeable  things.  Your 
equals  would  blame  you,  and  say  that  you  forgot  your 
rank,  and  I  know  that  to  be  a  heavy  crime  in  their  eyes 
And  then  you  would  have  to  be  just  as  kind  to  others  a 
to  us,  or  the  rest  would  be  jealous,  and  become  our  en( 
mies.     Each  one  must  follow  his  own  course.     They  sa; 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT.  49 

that  the  world  is  mightily  changed  within  fifty  years,  but 
to  my  mind  nothing  is  changed  but  the  ideas  of  people  in 
my  rank.  We  will  no  longer  submit  as  we  have  done. 
Now  my  mother  there,  whom,  for  all  that,  I  love  dearly, 
the  good  soul,  sees  things  diiFerently  from  me.  But  the 
rich  and  the  nobles  hold  the  same  opinions  as  ever.  If 
you  hold  them  not,  if  you  do  not  despise  common  peo- 
ple, but  treat  them  with  the  same  respect  that  you  do  your 
equals,  it  may  be  so  much  the  worse  for  you.  I  have  often 
seen  your  late  husband,  M.  de  Blanchemont,  whom  some 
people  continued  to  call  the  Lord  of  Blanchemont.  Every 
year  he  came  to  the  country  for  two  or  three  days.  He 
said  thee  and  thou  to  us.  If  it  had  been  in  friendliness, 
very  well :  but  it  was  in  contempt,  and  we  must  always 
speak  to  him  standing,  and  cap  in  hand.  Now  this  did 
not  suit  me  at  all.  One  day  he  met  me  on  the  road,  and 
ordered  me  to  hold  his  horse.  I  made  believe  deaf :  he 
called  me  boor  ;  I  looked  sideways  at  him  ;  if  he  had  not 
been  so  slender  and  feeble,  I  would  have  let  him  hear  a 
word  or  two.  But  it  would  have  been  cowardly,  and  I 
went  singing  on  my  way.  That  man  could  not  be  pleased 
if  he  were  living,  and  heard  you  speak  as  you  do  now  to 
me.  Why,  look  you  !  I  saw  to-day,  only  by  your  servants' 
faces,  that  they  thought  you  too  unceremonious  with  us 
and  themselves.  Ay,  ay,  madam,  it  is  for  you  to  come 
and  revisit  the  mill,  and  for  us,  who  love  you,  not  to  go 
and  put  ourselves  at  the  table  of  the  chateau." 

"  I  forgive  you  all  the  rest  for  that  last  word,  and  I 
think  yet  to  convince  you,"  said  Marcelle,  offering  him 
her  hand,  while  the  noble  purity  of  her  countenance  com- 
manded respect  at  the  same  time  that  her  manner  engaged 
affection.  The  miller  blushed  as  he  received  the  delicate 
fingers  in  his  enormous  hand,  and,  for  the  first  time,  felt 
himself  timid  in  Marcelle's  presence,  like  a  bold  but  lov- 
ing child  whose  pride  is  suddenly  conquered  by  tender- 
ness. 

"I  will  mount  Sophie,  and  be  your  guide  to  Blanche- 
mont," said  he,  after  a  moment  of  embarrassed  silence  ; 
"this  unlucky  patachon  would  lead  you  astray  again, 
though  it  is  not  far." 


50  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT, 

"  I  accept  your  kindness,"  said  Marcelle  ;  "  will  you 
still  say  that  I  am  proud?" 

"  I  will  say,  will  say,"  cried  Grand-Louis,  rushing  has- 
tily out,  "that  if  all  rich  women  were  like  you — " 

The  end  of  his  sentence  was  lost,  and  his  mother  fin- 
ished it  for  him. 

"He  is  thinking,"  said  she,  "  that  if  the  girl  he  loves 
has  as  little  pride  as  you,  he  should  not  be  so  tormented." 

"  And  could  not  I  be  useful  to  him?"  asked  Marcelle, 
with  a  joyful  thought  of  her  wealth  and  its  sacred  uses. 

"  Perhaps,  by  speaking  well  of  him  before  the  young 
lady,  for  you  will  soon  know  her.  But  pshaw  !  she  is  too 
rich!" 

"We  will  talk  of  it  again,"  said  Marcelle,  perceiving 
that  her  servants  had  come  for  her  baggage.  "I  will 
come  back  soon,  perhaps  to-morrow." 

The  red-headed,  scrubbed  patachon  had  passed  the  night 
under  a  tree,  for  in  the  darkness  he  had  not  been  able  to 
discover  any  habitation  in  the  Black  Valley.  At  day- 
break he  had  perceived  the  mill,  and  there  he  and  his 
horse  had  been  fed  and  refreshed,  notwithstanding  which 
he  was  in  very  ill  temper,  and  quite  ready  to  reply  inso- 
lently to  the  reproaches  which  he  expected.  But,  on  the 
one  hand,  Marcelle  made  him  none,  and  on  the  other, 
the  miller  overwhelmed  him  with  so  many  jeers,  that  he 
could  not  put  in  a  word,  and  took  his  place  on  the  shaft 
in  sheepish  silence.  Little  Edward  besought  his  mother 
to  let  him  ride  on  horseback  before  the  miller,  who  took 
him  lovingly  in  his  arms,  saying  aside  to  the  old  woman  : 

"  Such  an  one  would  make  a  gay  house  for  us,  mother, 
eh  ?    But  that  will  never  be  ! " 

And  the  mother  understood  that  he  would  never  marry 
another  than  her  to  whom  he  could  not  reasonably  aspire. 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT.  51 


CHAPTER   VII. 

BLANCHEMONT. 

"\/l"ARCELLE  having  embraced  Grand-Marie,  and  pri- 
^^  vately  but  amply  recompensed  the  servants  at  the 
mill,  gayly  reentered  the  detestable  patache.  She  felt  a 
larger  expansion  and  freedom  of  spirit  from  this,  her  first 
trial  of  equality,  and  the  result  of  her  romantic  projects 
appeared  to  her  eyes  clothed  in  the  most  poetic  colors. 
But  the  mere  sight  of  Blanchemont  cast  a  shadow  over 
her  thoughts,  and  she  had  no  sooner  passed  the  gate  of 
her  domain,  than  her  heart  sank  within  her. 

The  terrace  of  Blanchemont  is  reached  by  following 
the  road  up  the  river  Vauvre,  and  climbing  a  rather  steep 
eminence.  It  is  a  pretty  lawn,  shaded  by  old  trees,  and 
commanding  a  beautiful  view,  not  one  of  the  most  exten- 
sive in  the  Black  Valley,  but  gentle  and  pleasing,  over 
a  country  which  seems  uninhabited,  on  account  of  the 
scarcity  of  its  dwellings,  and  the  way  in  which  their 
roofs,  of  thatch  or  brown  tile,  are  hidden  among  the 
trees. 

The  terrace  slopes  gently  toward  the  river,  here  flow- 
ing in  graceful  windings,  and  is  surrounded  by  the  low 
cabins  of  the  hamlet,  among  which  stands  a  humble 
church.  Thence  a  broad  and  stony  road  leads  to  the 
chateau,  placed  in  the  midst  of  green  fields,  a  little  below, 
and  in  rear  of  the  terrace.  From  this  level  the  beau- 
tiful blue  horizons  of  Berry  and  La  Marche  are  lost  from 
sight,  and  become  visible  only  from  the  second  story  of 
the  chateau. 

This  building  never  possessed  great  means  of  defence  ; 
its  walls  are  only  five  or  six  feet  thick  at  their  foundation, 
and  its  flanking  towers  are  corbelled.     It  dates  from  the 


52  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT, 

end  of  the  feudal  wars.  Nevertheless,  the  small  size  of 
its  doors,  the  scarcity  of  windows,  and  the  remains  of 
numerous  walls  and  turrets  which  once  clustered  around 
it,  indicate  an  age  of  general  distrust  and  precaution.  It 
is  built  with  some  elegance,  in  an  oblong  form,  contain- 
ing at  each  story  one  large  room,  with  four  towers  en- 
closing smaller  chambers  at  the  angles,  and  another  tower 
at  the  back,  serving  as  cage  to  the  solitary  staircase. 
The  chapel  is  isolated  by  the  destruction  of  the  former 
offices,  the  moat  is  partially  filled  up,  the  surrounding 
turrets  are  broken  off  midway,  and  the  pond  which  for- 
merly washed  the  northern  side  of  the  chateau  has  be- 
come a  pretty  meadow,  with  a  little  spring  in  its  centre. 
But  the  attention  of  the  heiress  of  Blanchemont  was  not 
at  first  occupied  by  the  still  picturesque  aspect  of  the  old 
chateau.  The  miller,  in  helping  her  from  the  carriage,  di- 
rected her  towards  what  he  called  the  new  chateau  and  the 
immense  farming  establishment,  situated  at  the  foot  of  the 
ancient  manor,  and  close  upon  a  very  large  court,  enclosed 
on  one  side  by  a  battlemented  wall,  and  on  the  other  by  a 
hedge,  and  a  ditch  full  of  muddy  water.  Nothing  can  be 
more  dismal  and  disagreeable  than  this  wealthy  farmer's 
dwelling.  The  new  chateau  is  only  a  large  and  ordinary 
house,  built  perhaps  fifty  years  since,  with  the  ruins  of  the 
old  fortifications,  but  the  fresh  stucco  on  its  solid  walls,  and 
the  new  tiles,  of  screeching  red^*  upon  the  roof,  show  that 
it  has  been  lately  repaired.  This  exterior  rejuvenation 
jars  with  the  antiquated  look  of  the  other  farm-buildings, 
and  the  egregious  filthiness  of  the  court.  These  dark 
buildings,  which  show  traces  of  ancient  architecture,  and 
are  solid  and  well  preserved,  form  a  continuous  range  of 
barns  and  stables,  the  property  of  one  tenant,  who  is 
thereby  the  pride  of  all  the  farmers,  and  the  admira- 
tion of  all  the  agriculturists  of  the  country  round.  But 
the  space  they  enclose,  although  useful  and  convenient 
for  the  work  of  the  farm,  offers  a  repulsive  prospect  to 
the  eye.     Enormous  heaps  of  manure,  sunk  in  square 

*  Rouge  criard.  The  grotesque  strength  of  the  French  phrase 
seems  only  to  be  matched  by  one  of  our  own  Western  expres- 
sions, which  I  have  accordingly  used.  —  Tr, 


THE  MILLER    OF  ANGIBAULT. 


53 


stone  pits,  and  still  rising  ten  or  twelve  feet  above  ground, 
send  forth  unclean  streams  which  arc  allowed  to  run  freely 
towards  the  lower  land,  to  improve  the  vegetables  of  the 
kitchen  garden.  These  stores  of  fatness  are  the  favorite 
possessions  of  the  farmer.  They  fill  his  eye,  and  swell 
his  heart  with  pride  when  a  neighbor  looks  upon  them 
with  admiration  or  envy.  In  smaller  farm-yards,  these 
details  are  not  disagreeable  to  the  artistic  eye  or  mind. 
Their  irregularity,  the  confusion  of  farming  tools,  and  the 
verdure  around  all,  conceal  or  make  them  graceful ;  but 
on  a  large  scale,  and  in  a  broad  field,  nothing  is  more  dis- 
gusting than  this  all-surrounding  filth.  Flocks  of  turkeys, 
geese,  and  ducks  take  care  that  there  shall  be  no  safety 
in  setting  one's  foot  upon  any  spot  spared  by  the  flow 
from  the  manure  heaps.  The  ground,  bare  and  uneven, 
is  crossed  by  a  paved  way,  which  at  present  is  no  more 
practicable  than  the  rest,  for  the  remains  of  the  old  roof- 
ing of  the  new  chateau  are  scattered  everywhere,  so  that 
one  literally  walks  upon  a  field  of  broken  tiles.  It  is  six 
months,  indeed,  since  the  work  was  finished  ;  but  the  re- 
pairs were  at  the  charge  of  the  owner  of  the  estate, 
while  the  expense  of  carrying  away  the  rubbish  and 
clearing  the  court  belongs  to  the  tenant,  who  intends  to 
do  it  when  the  summer  work  is  over,  and  his  own  men 
can  attend  to  it.  On  the  one  hand,  he  will  thus  econ- 
omize several  days  of  his  laborers'  time,  and  on  the 
other,  he  gratifies  the  heavy  apathy  of  a  Berrichon,* 
who  always  leaves  something  unfinished,  as  if,  after  any 
effort,  his  exhausted  activity  found  repose  and  the  luxury 
of  indolence  indispensable  before  the  end  of  the  task. 

Marcelle  compared  this  coarse  and  disgusting  rustic 
opulence  with  the  poetic  competence  of  the  miller,  and 
would  have  spoken  to  him  on  the  subject,  if  a  word  could 
have  been  heard  amid  the  distressed  cries  of  the  turkeys, 
unluckily  rendered  immovable  by  their  very  terror,  the 
hissing  of  maternal  geese,  and  the  barking  of  four  or 
five  lean,  yellow  dogs.  As  it  was  Sunday,  the  cattle  were 
in  the  stables  and  the  laborers  hanging  about  the  door, 

♦Native  of  the  province  of  Berri. 


54 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 


dressed  from  head  to  foot  in  their  holiday  clothes  of  dark 
blue  cloth.  They  stared  at  sight  of  the  pataclie,  but  no 
one  stirred  to  receive  it,  or  to  warn  the  farmer  of  the  ar- 
rival of  a  visitor.  Grand-Louis  was  obliged  to  serve  as 
usher  to  Mme.  de  Blanchemont,  which  he  did  with  little 
ceremony,  calling  out,  as  he  entered  without  knocking : 

"  See  here,  Mme.  Bricolin  !  Here  is  Mme.  de  Blanche- 
mont come  to  see  you." 

The  three  Bricolin  women,  who  had  just  returned  from 
mass,  and  were  about  to  partake,  standing,  of  a  slight  col- 
lation, were  so  startled  by  this  unexpected  news,  that  they 
remained  stupefied,  looking  at  each  other  as  to  ask  what 
was  to  be  said  and  done  in  such  circumstances  ;  and  they 
had  not  yet  stirred  from  their  places  when  Marcelle 
entered.  The  group  before  her  was  composed  of  three 
generations.  The  mother  Bricolin,  who  could  neither 
read  or  write,  and  who  wore  the  peasant  costume  ;  Mme. 
Bricolin,  the  farmer's  wife,  a  little  more  elegant  than  her 
mother-in-law,  and  looking  something  like  a  curate's 
liousekeeper ;  she  could  sign  her  name  legibly,  and  find 
the  times  of  sunrise,  and  the  phases  of  the  moon,  in  the 
Liege  almanac  ;  last.  Mile.  Rose  Bricolin,  fair  and  fresh 
as  a  May  rose,  who  knew  very  well  how  to  read  ro- 
mances, keep  the  house  accounts,  and  dance  a  contra^ 
dance.  Her  hair  was  carefully  braided,  and  she  wore  a 
dress  of  rose-colored  muslin,  fitting  perfectly  to  her  beau- 
tiful form,  which  was,  however,  somewhat  injured  by  the 
exaggerated  length  of  the  waist,  and  the  tight  sleeves 
then  in  fashion.  The  expression  of  her  charming  face 
was  at  once  artless  and  shrewd,  and  effaced  the  disagree- 
able impression  which  her  mother's  sharp  and  crabbed 
look  had  made  upon  Marcelle.  The  physiognomy  of  the 
grandmother  was  free  and  open,  though  she  was  sun- 
burned and  wrinkled,  like  one  who  had  seen  hard  work 
and  weather.  Tliese  three  women  stood  open-mouthed  ; 
Mother  Bricolin  really  wondering  whether  this  young  and 
beautiful  lady  were  the  same  whom  she  had  sometimes 
seen  at  the  chateau  thirty  years  before  ^-meaning  Mar- 
celle's  mother,  whom,  nevertheless,  she  knew  to  have  been 
long  dead  —  Mme.  Bricolin,  the  mistress  of  the  house, 


THE   MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 


55 


observing  that  she  had  been  too  hasty  on  her  return  from 
mass,  in  putting  a  kitchen  apron  over  her  maroon-colored 
merino  dress,  and  Mile.  Rose,  rapidly  considering  that 
she  was  irreproachably  clad  and  shod,  and  that,  thanks  to 
the  Sabbath,  she  could  be  surprised  by  a  Parisian  fine 
lady  without  having  to  blush  for  any  vulgar  domestic 
occupation. 

In  the  eyes  of  the  Bricolin  family,  Mme.  de  Blanche- 
mont  had  always  been  a  problematical  being  of  possible 
existence,  whom  they  never  had  seen,  and  certainly  never 
would  see.  They  had  known  her  lordly  husband,  who 
was  not  loved  because  he  was  haughty,  not  esteemed  be- 
cause he  was  extravagant,  and  not  at  all  feared  because 
he  was  always  in  need  of  money,  and  would  have  it  at 
any  price.  Since  his  death,  they  had  thought  to  deal  only 
with  men  of  business,  as  the  deceased  had  often  said  to 
them,  when  producing  his  wife's  complaisant  signature, 
"  Mme.  de  Blanchemont  is  but  a  child  ;  she  takes  no  con- 
cern in  all  this,  and  cares  very  little  where  the  money 
comes  from,  if  I  only  carry  her  enough."  It  is  to  be 
understood  that  the  husband  was  accustomed  to  lay  to  the 
charge  of  his  wife's  expensive  tastes  all  that  he  himself 
lavished  upon  his  mistresses.  Thus  there  was  no  sus- 
picion of  the  true  character  of  the  young  widow,  and  Mme. 
Bricolin  thought  herself  dreaming,  when  she  saw  her  ap- 
pear in  person  in  the  very  midst  of  Blanchemont  Farm. 
Ought  she  to  be  glad  or  sorry?  Was  this  singular  ap- 
parition of  good  or  evil  augury  for  the  prosperity  of  the 
Bricolins?     Had  she  come  to  claim  or  to  sue? 

While,  a  prey  to  these  sudden  perplexities,  the  dame 
examined  Marcelle  something  as  a  goat  does  a  strange 
dog  in  the  flock.  Rose  Bricolin,  suddenly  won  by  the  af- 
fable air  and  simple  attire  of  the  stranger,  had  found 
courage  to  advance  two  steps  towards  her.  The  grand- 
mother was  the  least  embarrassed  of  the  three.  After 
the  first  moment  of  surprise,  and  when  she  had  exerted 
her  feeble  head  to  understand  the  state  of  the  case,  she 
approached  Marcelle  with  blunt  frankness,  and  greeted 
her  in  almost  the  same  terms  that  had  been  used,  though 
with  more  grace  and  dignity,  by  the  miller's  mother  of 


56  THE  MILLER    OF  ANGIBAULT. 

Angibault.  The  two  others,  reassured  by  the  sweet  aud 
geutle  maimer  in  which  Marcelle  requested  their  hospi- 
tality for  a  lew  days,  that  she  might,  as  she  said,  talk 
over  her  affairs  with  M.  Bricolin,  soon  hastened  to  offer 
her  breakfast. 

The  excellent  meal  which  she  had  taken,  an  hour  be- 
fore, at  the  mill  of  Angibault,  was  Marcelle's  excuse  for 
refusing,  and  not  till  then  were  the  eyes  of  the  three 
Bricolin  women  turned  upon  Grand-Louis,  who  stood 
near  the  door,  chatting  with  the  servant-maid,  for  a  pre- 
text to  stay  a  little  longer.  These  three  looks  were  very 
different.  The  grandmother's  was  friendly,  her  daughter- 
in-law's  disdainful,  and  that  of  Rose  doubtful  and  inde- 
finable, as  if  both  feelings  were  secretly  mingled  in  it. 

*'  How ! "  cried  Mme.  Bricolin,  in  a  tone  of  united 
condolence  and  scorn,  when  Marcelle  had  in  few  words 
related  her  night's  adventures,  "you  were  forced  to  sleep 
in  that  mill  ?  And  we  did  not  know  it !  Eh  1  why  did 
not  that  stupid  miller  bring  you  here  at  once?  Ah, 
heavens !  What  a  bad  night  you  must  have  passed, 
madam ! " 

"Excellent,  on  the  contrary.  I  was  treated  like  a 
queen,  and  I  am  a  thousand  times  obliged  to  M.  Louis 
and  to  his  mother." 

"Now  that  does  not  astonish  me,"  said  the  mother 
Bricolin ;  "  Grand'-Marie  is  such  a  fine  woman,  and 
keeps  her  house  so  neatly  !  She  is  my  own  old  friend  ; 
we  have  kept  sheep  together,  saving  your  presence ;  we 
were  called  two  pretty  lasses  in  those  days,  though  you 
would  not  think  it  now,  would  you,  madam  ?  We  each 
knew  just  about  the  same  things  —  to  spin,  and  knit,  and 
make  cheese,  and  that  was  all.  We  married  very  differ- 
ently ;  she  took  a  man  poorer  than  herself,  and  I  one 
richer  than  I  was.  But  both  were  for  love  :  that  was  the 
way  in  our  time ;  now  they  marry  only  for  money,  and 
shillings  count  for  more  than  sentiments.  They  are  nonej 
the  better  for  it,  are  they,  Mme.  de  Blanchemont?"  1 

"  I  am  quite  of  your  opinion,"  said  Marcelle. 

"  Eh !  good  conscience,  mother,  what  idle  tales  are 
you  telling  the  lady  ? "  sharply  resumed  Mme.  Bricolin. 


THE  MILLER    OF  ANGIBAULT. 


SI 


"Do  yon  think  she  will  be  amused  with  your  old  stories? 
Eh!  miller!"  she  added  in  an  imperious  voice,  "go 
see  if  M.  Bricolin  is  in  the  warren  or  the  oat-field  behind 
the  house.  Tell  him  to  come  and  pay  his  respects  to 
the  lady." 

"M.  Bricolin,"  answered  the  miller,  with  a  clear 
glance  and  a  look  of  merry  bravado,  "is  neither  in  his 
oat-ficld  nor  in  the  warren  ;  I  saw  him  as  I  passed  by, 
drinking  a  measure  with  Monsieur  the  Curate,  at  the 
presbytery." 

"Ah,  yes,"  said  the  grandmother,  "he  must  be  at  the 
freciijitary .  Monsieur  the  Curate  is  always  very  hungry 
and  thirsty  after  high  mass,  and  likes  to  have  company. 
Say,  Louis,  my  boy,  wilt  thou  go  and  fetch  him,  thou  art 
always  so  obliging?" 

"  I  will  go  instantly,"  said  the  miller,  who  had  not 
stirred  at  the  command  of  the  farmer's  wife ;  and  he 
ran  hastily  out. 

"  If  you  think  him  obliging,"  muttered  Mme.  Bric- 
olin, looking  crossly  at  her  mother-in-law,  "you  are  not 
hard  to  please." 

"Oh,  mamma,  that  should  not  be  said,"  spoke  pretty 
Rose  Bricolin,  with  her  soft  voice ;  "  Grand-Louis  is 
very  good- hearted." 

"And  what  is  his  good  heart  to  you?"  returned  Mme. 
Bricolin,  with  increased  indignation.  "What  has  set 
you  both  up  for  him  lately?" 

"Nay,  mamma,  it  is  thou  who  art  unjust  towards 
him  of  late,"  replied  Rose,  who,  accustomed  to  her  grand- 
mother's protection,  seemed  to  have  no  great  fear  of  her 
mother.  "Thou  art  always  rough  with  him,  and  yet 
thou  knowest  that  papa  has  great  esteem  for  him." 

"  Thou  wouldst  do  better  thyself,"  said  the  mistress, 
"to  go,  instead  of  prating,  and  prepare  thy  chamber, 
which  is  the  best  ordered  in  the  house,  for  the  lady,  who 
perhaps  would  like  to  rest  herself  before  dinner-time. 
Madame  will  excuse  us  if  she  is  not  very  well  lodged 
here.  It  was  only  last  year  that  the  late  M.  de  Blanche- 
mont  agreed  to  fit  up  the  new  chateau  a  little,  for  it  was 
almost  as  much  ruined  as  the  old  one  ;  and  it  was  only 


58 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT, 


then,  at  the  renewal  of  our  lease,  that  we  could  begin  to 
furnish  suitably.  Nothing  is  finished,  the  papers  are  not 
yet  put  up  in  the  chambers,  and  we  expect  bureaux  and 
beds,  which  have  not  yet  come  from  Bourges.  We  have 
some,  too,  still  unpacked.  We  are  fairly  heels-over-head, 
since  the  workmen  overturned  everything." 

The  domestic  disarray  which  Mme.  Bricolin  thus  detailed 
in  her  discourse,  sprung  from  precisely  the  same  causes 
as  that  which  Marcelle  had  remarked  outside  the  house. 
Economy,  joined  to  apathy,  induced  slow  and  long  ex- 
pense, and  postponed  indefinitely  the  enjoyment  of  the 
desired  luxury,  wh^,  although  within  their  reach, 
they  dared  not  grasp.  The  dismal  and  smoke-blackened 
room  in  which  they  had  been  surprised  by  the  chatelaine, 
was  the  ugliest  aud  dirtiest  of  the  new  chateau.  It  was 
at  once  kitchen,  eating-room,  and  parlor.  The  poultry 
had  access  to  it  through  the  ever  open  door,  and  the  oare 
of  driving  them  out  was  one  of  the  constant  occupations 
of  the  mistress,  whose  natural  activity  and  love  of  dis- 
cipline were  perhaps  sustained  by  the  perpetual  state  of 
anger  and  severity  in  which  she  was  kept  by  the  repeated 
offences  of  the  fowls.  Here  were  received  the  peasants 
who  came  incessantly  on  business ;  and  as  their  muddy 
feet  and  the  freedom  of  their  habits  would  inevitably 
have  spoiled  a  polished  floor  and  fine  furniture,  only 
coarse  straw  chairs  and  wooden  benches  were  placed 
upon  the  bare  stone  pavement,  swept  ten  times  a  day, 
but  swept  in  vain.  Swarms  of  flies,  and  the  fire,  which 
at  all  hours  and  in  all  seasons  burned  in  the  huge 
chimney-place,  with  its  swinging  cranes,  made  it  an  un- 
comfortable place  in  summer.  Yet  this  was  the  room 
continually  inhabited  by  the  family  ;  and  when  Marcelle 
was  shown  into  the  next  apartment,  she  saw  that  the 
parlor  was  virgin  yet,  although  it  had  been  furnished  for 
a  year.  It  was  decorated  with  the  vulgar  finery  of  a 
tavern.  The  new  floor  had  never  yet  been  polished  with 
wax.  The  showy  muslin  curtains  were  hung  from  de- 
testably ugly  copper  ornaments.  The  chimney  garniture 
corresponded  to  these  in  glitter  and  bad  taste.  A  very 
rich  stand,  intended  for   some  future  coffee-taking,  re- 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 


59 


mained,  with  all  its  gilded  bronzes,  wrapped  in  paper  and 
twine.  The  furniture  was  covered  with  a  red  and  white 
check,  beneath  which  the  worsted  damask  was  destined 
to  wear  out  without  seeing  the  light ;  and,  as  in  these 
farms  no  distinction  is  made  between  parlor  and  bed- 
room, two  mahogany  bedsteads,  still  uncurtained,  were 
placed  facing  the  window,  on  the  right  and  left  of  the 
door  of  entrance.  It  was  whispered  in  the  family  that 
this  would  be  Rose's  bridal  chamber. 

Marcelle  found  this  house  so  disagreeable,  that  she  de- 
termined not  to  stay  in  it.  She  declared  that  she  did 
not  wish  to  cause  her  hosts  the  least  trouble,  and  that 
she  would  find  some  peasant's  hoilH  in  the  village  where 
she  could  be  lodged,  imless  tjiere  were  some  habitable 
chamber  in  the  old  chateau.  Mme.  Bricolin  appeared 
disturbed  at  this  last  idea,  and  spared  no  pains  to  turn 
her  guest's  mind  from  it. 

"It  is  very  true,"  she  said,  "that  there  is  always 
what  we  call  the  'master's  room*  in  the  old  chateau. 
When  the  baron,  your  late  husband,  did  us  the  honor 
to  come  here  —  as  he  always  wrote  beforehand,  to  give 
us  notice — we  took  care  to  clean  up,  that  he  should  not 
find  things  so  bad.  But  the  poor  chateau  is  so  dismal, 
and  so  decayed  —  the  rai3  and  the  night-birds  make  a 
frightful  noise  inside  —  and  besides,  the  roofs  are  so  poor, 
and  the  walls  so  tottling,  that  there  is  surely  no  safety 
in  sleeping  there.  I  cannot  imagine  why  the  baron  had 
such  a  fancy  for  that  room.  He  never  would  take  one 
with  us,  and  one  would  have  thought  that  he  felt  it  a  dis- 
grace to  pass  a  night  elsewhere  than  under  his  own  old 
roof." 

"  I  will  go  and  look  at  the  chamber,"  said  Marcelle, 
"and  if  it  afford  a  shelter,  it  will  be  all  I  need.  Mean- 
while, I  beg  you  not  to  disturb  yourselves.  I  do  not 
wish  to  give  you  any  trouble  whatsoever." 

Rose  expressed  her  desire  to  yield  her  apartment  to 
Mme.  de  Blanchemont  in  so  amiable  a  manner,  and 
with  so  winning  a  face,  that  Marcelle  gently  pressed  her 
hand  to  thank  her,  but  adhered  to  her  resolution.  The 
appearance  of  the  new  chateau,  joined  to  an  instinctive 


50  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT, 

repugnance  for  Mrae.  Bricolin,  made  her  obstinate  in 
refusing  the  hospitality  which  at  the  mill  she  had  at  last 
cordially  accepted. 

She  was  still  declining  the  dame's  ceremonious  impor> 
tunities,  when  M.  Bricolin  arrived. 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT,  Si 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

THE   PARVENU   PEASANT. 

IVyT  BRICOLIN  was  a  man  of  fifty,  robust,  and  with 
^^^*  regular  features.  But  his  thick-set  limbs  were 
swollen  by  corpulence,  as  happens  to  all  well-to-do  country 
bourgeois,  who,  passing  their  days  in  the  open  air,  chiefly 
on  horseback,  and  leading  an  active,  but  not  laborious  life, 
have  just  enough  fatigue  to  keep  them  in  excellent  appe- 
tite and  perfect  health.  Thanks  to  the  stimulus  of  con- 
tinual air  and  exercise,  such  men  endure  daily  excess  for 
a  long  time  without  suiFering  from  it ;  but  although  in 
their  rural  occupations  their  dress  is  very  similar  to  that 
of  the  peasant,  they  can  never  be  mistaken  at  the  first 
glance.  While  the  peasant  is  always  thin,  well-propor- 
tioned, and  of  a  swarthy  complexion,  which  is  not  with- 
out its  beauty,  the  country  bourgeois  is  always,  from  the 
age  of  forty,  afflicted  with  obesity,  a  heavy  bearing,  and 
a  vinous  coloring  of  face,  which  vulgarize  and  disfigure 
the  finest  organization. 

Among  those  who  have  made  their  own  fortunes,  and 
have  begun  life  by  the  forced  sobriety  of  the  peasant,  are 
found  no  exceptions  to  this  enlargement  of  the  figure  and 
alteration  of  the  skin.  For  it  is  a  proverbial  observation, 
that  when  the  peasant  begins  to  eat  meat  and  drink  wine 
freely,  he  becomes  incapable  of  labor,  and  the  return  to 
his  former  habits  would  be  infallibly  and  promptly  fatal. 
It  might  be  said  of  these  men  that  their  money  has  parsed 
into  their  blood,  that  body  and  soul  are  bound  to  it,  and 
that  the  loss  of  fortune  would  cost  them  life  or  reason. 
Every  idea  of  devotion  to  humanity,  every  religious  con- 
ception, is  almost  incompatible  with  the  transformation 
produced  by  wealth  in  their  physical  and  moral  being.    It 


62  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT, 

would  be  useless  to  feel  indignation  against  them.  They 
cannot  be  otherwise.  They  are  fattening  for  apoplexy  or 
imbecility.  Their  faculties  for  the  acquisition  and  pres- 
ervation of  wealth,  strongly  developed  at  first,  are  ex- 
hausted toward  the  midst  of  their  career,  and  after  having 
made  a  fortune  with  remarkable  skill  and  rapidity,  they 
fall  early  into  apathy,  disorder,  and  incapacity.  No  social 
ideal,  no  sentiment  of  progress  upholds  them.  Digestion 
becomes  the  business  of  their  lives  ;  and  the  fortune  they 
have  so  vigorously  acquired  is  involved,  before  its  con- 
solidation, in  a  thousand  embarrassments,  and  compro- 
mised by  a  thousand  mistakes,  not  to  speak  of  the  vanity 
which  hurries  them  into  speculations  beyond  their  credit, 
so  that  each  of  these  rich  men  is  commonly  ruined  just 
when  he  is  considered  most  an  object  of  envy. 

M.  Bricolin  had  not  yet  reached  this  point.  He  was 
at  an  age  when  the  whole  force  of  his  activity  and  will 
could  still  struggle  against  the  double  intoxication  of 
pride  and  intemperance.  But  one  look  at  his  sunken 
eyes,  his  huge  stomach,  his  shining  nose,  and  the  nervous 
trembling  given  to  his  robust  hand  by  his  habit  of  a  morn- 
ing cup  (that  is  to  say,  two  bottles  of  white  wine  fasting), 
was  enough  to  show  that  the  time  was  near  when  this  man, 
now  so  active  and  vigilant,  so  sagacious  and  so  pitiless  in 
business,  would  lose  health,  memory,  judgment,  and  even 
his  hard-heartedness,  and  become  an  exhausted  drunkard, 
a  clumsy  braggart,  and  an  easily-cheated  master. 

His  face  had  been  handsome,  although  entirely  desti- 
tute of  refinement.  His  compact  and  strongly-marked 
features  were  indicative  of  uncommon  energy  and  sever- 
ity. His  eye  was  black,  quick  and  hard  ;  his  mouth  sen- 
sual ;  forehead  low  and  narrow ;  his  hair  crisp,  and  his 
speech  short  and  rapid.  There  was  no  falseness  in  his 
look,  nor  hypocrisy  in  his  manners.  He  was  not  a  fraud- 
ulent man,  and  his  great  respect  for  meum  and  tuum^ 
according  to  the  terms  of  actual  society,  made  him  incap- 
able of  cheating.  Besides,  the  cynicism  of  his  cupidity 
prevented  him  from  veiling  his  intentions  ;  and  when  he 
had  said  to  his  neighbor,  "My  interest  is  contrary  to 
thine,"   he   considered   that   his   subsequent  action  was 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT,  63 

based  upon  the  most  sacred  right,  and  looked  upon  its 
announcement  as  a  deed  of  exaUed  loyalty. 

Half  bourgeois,  half  laborer,  his  Sunday  costume  was 
between  that  of  the  peasant  and  the  gentleman.  The  form 
of  his  hat  was  lower  than  that  of  the  one,  and  it  had  a 
narrower  brim  than  that  of  the  other.  He  wore  a  gray 
blouse,  gathered  in  folds  around  his  short  waist,  so  that 
he  looked  like  a  girdled  cask.  His  gaiters  smelt  unmis- 
takably of  tlie  stable,  and  his  black  silk  cravat  was  shin- 
ing and  greasy.  This  short,  brusque  personage  made  an 
unpleasant  impression  upon  Marcelle,  and  she  had  still 
less  sympathy  with  his  conversation,  which  was  prolix, 
and  always  turning  upon  money,  than  with  the  unpleasing 
attentions  of  his  better  half. 

The  following  is  nearly  the  substance  of  the  two  hours' 
babble  which  she  had  to  endure  from  Master  Bricolin. 
The  estate  of  Blanchemont  was  loaded  with  mortgages 
for  a  large  third  of  its  value.  The  late  baron  had,  beside, 
demanded  considerable  advances  from  his  tenant,  and  paid 
enormous  interest,  which  M.  Bricolin  had  been  forced,  to 
exacts  on  account  of  the  difficulty  of  procuring  money,  and 
the  usurious  rates  established  in  the  country.  Mme.  de 
Blanchemont  would  be  obliged  to  submit  to  still  harder 
conditions,  if  she  chose  to  continue  the  system  which  she 
had  authorized  her  husband  to  pursue,  or  else,  before 
claiming  the  revenues,  she  must  pay  the  arrears,  capital 
and  interest,  and  compound  interest,  altogether  more  than 
a  hundred  thousand  francs.  As  for  the  other  creditors, 
they  desired  to  receive  their  entire  due,  or  keep  the  whole 
debt  as  an  investment.  It  had  thus  become  necessary  to 
sell  the  estate,  or  to  obtain  ready  money ;  in  a  word,  the 
property  was  worth  eight  hundred  thousand  francs,  and 
was  encumbered  with  four  hundred  thousand  francs  of 
debt,  without  counting  that  toward  M.  Bricolin.  There 
remained  three  hundred  thousand  francs,  henceforth  the 
only  fortune  of  Mme.  de  Blanchemont,  independent  of 
what  her  husband  had  or  had  not  left  to  his  son,  and  of 
which  she  was  yet  ignorant. 

Far  from  foreseeing  such  great  disasters,  Marcelle  had 
not  imagined  the  half  of  them.     The  creditors  had  made, 


6^  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT, 

as  yet,  no  claim,  and,  well  furnished  with  their  titles,  they 
waited,  M.  Bricolin  at  their  head,  till  the  widow  should 
inquire  into  her  position,  to  demand  of  her  entire  pay- 
ment, or  the  continuation  of  the  revenue  assured  to  them 
by  the  loan.  When  she  asked  Bricolin  why,  during  a 
month  that  she  had  been  a  widow,  he  had  not  informed 
her  of  the  state  of  her  affairs,  he  told  her  with  coarse 
frankness  that  he  had  no  reasons  for  haste,  that  her  credit 
was  good,  and  that  every  day  of  indifference  on  the  side 
of  the  owner  was  a  day  of  profit  for  the  farmer,  during 
which  he  accumulated  the  ititerest  of  his  money  without 
any  risk.  This  peremptory  reasoning  quickly  enlightened  i 
Marcelle  upon  M.  Bricolin's  species  of  morality.  \ 

"It  is  just,"  she  answered,  with  a  smile  whose  irony  ' 
was  beyond  the  farmer's  comprehension.  "  I  see  that 
the  fault  is  mine,  if  every  day  that  I  let  slip  devours  more 
than  my  expected  income.  But,  for  my  son's  interest,  I 
must  put  a  stop  to  this  kind  of  sliding-scale,  and  I  expect 
from  you,  M.  Bricolin,  good  counsel  on  this  subject." 

M.  Bricolin,  much  amazed  at  the  composure  with  Avhich 
the  lady  of  Blanchemont  had  just  received  the  informa- 
tion that  she  was  very  nearly  ruined,  and  still  more  at  the 
confidence  with  which  she  consulted  him,  looked  full  in 
her  face.  He  saw  in  her  eyes  a  sort  of  arch  defiance, 
given  by  absolute  candor  to  his  cupidity. 

"I  see  plainly,"  said  he,  "that  you  are  trying  me,  but 
I  have  no  desire  to  expose  myself  to  blame  from  your 
family.  It  is  injurious  to  a  man  to  be  accused  of  inter- 
ested acquiescence  in  usurious  rates.  I  must  speak  with 
you  seriously,  Mme.  de  Blanchemont,  but  these  walls  are 
too  thin,  and  what  I  have  to  say  must  not  be  rumored 
abroad.  If  you  will  pretend  to  go  and  examine  the  old 
chateau  with  me,  I  will  tell  you,  first,  what  I  should  ad- 
vise you  to  do  if  I  were  your  relation,  and  secondly, 
what,  being  your  creditor,  I  desire  that  you  should  do. 
You  will  sec  if  there  is  any  third  course  ;  I  think  not.'* 

If  the  old  chateau  had  not  been  surrounded  by  bram- 
bles, foul  and  stagnant  pools,  and  a  quantity  of  rubbish 
which  gave  it  an  appearance  of  barbarous  disorder,  it 
would  have  been  a  picturesque  relic  of  the  past.     Part 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT.  ^^ 

of  the  moat  was  filled  with  tall  reeds,  and  one  face  of  the 
building,  including  a  breach  in  the  wall  where  some  wild 
cherry-trees  had  attained  a  magnificent  growth,  was  cov- 
ered with  a  superb  ivy.  This  side  was  truly  poetic.  M. 
Bricolin  showed  Marcelle  the  chamber  which  her  husband 
had  been  accustomed  to  inhabit  on  his  visits  ;  it  con- 
tained some  remains  of  furniture  in  the  style  of  Louis 
XVI.,  very  dirty,  and  much  faded.  Nevertheless  the 
room  was  habitable,  and  Mme.  de  Blanchemont  resolved 
to  pass  the  night  there. 

"That  will  rather  vex  my  wife,  who  counted  on  the 
honor  of  receiving  you  with  her  new  furniture,"  said  M. 
Bricolin  ;  "but  I  know  nothing  more  ill-mannered  than  to 
tease  people.  If  the  old  chateau  please  you,  there  is  no 
disputing  on  taste,  as  the  saying  is,  and  I  will  have  your 
baggage  brought  here.  A  cot  shall  be  put  in  this  closet 
for  your  maid.  Meanwhile,  I  must  speak  seriously  to 
you  of  your  affairs,  Mme.  de  Blanchemont.  That  is  the 
first  thing  to  do." 

And,  drawing  up  an  arm-chair,  Bricolin  seated  him- 
self and  began  thus : 

"  First,  allow  me  to  ask  if  you  have  of  your  own  any 
other  fortune  than  the  estate  of  Blanchemont?  I  think 
not,  if  I  am  rightly  informed." 

"I  have  nothing  else  of  my  own,"  replied  Marcelle 
quietly. 

"  And  do  you  think  that  your  son  inherits  much  for- 
tune in  right  of  his  father  ?  " 

"  I  know  nothing  about  it.  If  M.  de  Blanchemont*8 
estates  are  as  heavily  burdened  as  mine  —  " 

"  Ah  !  you  know  nothing  about  it?  You  never  attend, 
then,  to  your  affairs?  That  is  odd  !  But  all  the  nobility 
are  so.  Now  as  for  me,  I  am  obliged  to  know  your  situa- 
tion. It  is  my  business  and  my  interest.  Well  then, 
seeing  that  the  late  baron  lived  at  a  grand  rate,  and  not 
foreseeing  that  he  would  die  so  young,  it  was  necessary 
to  assure  myself  of  the  holes  he  had  made  in  his  fortune, 
so  as  to  be  on  my  guard  against  loans  which  might  in 
time  have  exceeded  the  value  of  this  land,  and  left  me 
without  security.     So  I  have  had  the  proper  people  on 

5 


SS  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT, 

the  lookout,  and  I  kuovv  to  a  sou  what  remains,  in  theit 
days  of  ours,  to  your  little  man." 

"  Do  me  the  pleasure  to  inform  me,  Monsieur  Bricolin.** 

"  It  is  easily  done,  and  you  can  verify  it.  If  I  am 
wrong  by  ten  thousand  francs,  that  is  the  outside.  Your 
husband  had  about  a  million,  and  that  remains  in  appear- 
ance, except  that  there  are  niue  hundred  and  eighty  or 
ninety  thousand  francs  of  debts  to  pay." 

"  Then  my  son  has  nothing?"  said  Marcelle,  disturbed 
by  this  new  revelation. 

"As  you  say.  With  what  you  possess  he  will  yet 
have  three  hundred  thousand  francs  some  day.  It  is  still 
a  pretty  property  if  you  will  collect  and  free  it.  In  land, 
it  will  bring  in  six  or  seven  thousand  francs  of  rent.  If 
you  live  on  the  capital,  it  is  still  prettier." 

"  I  do  not  intend  to  destroy  my  son's  only  future  for- 
tune. My  duty  is  to  free  myself  as  much  as  possible 
from  my  present  embarrassment." 

"  In  that  case,  see  here ;  your  estates  and  his  bring 
you  in  two  per  cent.  You  are  paying  fifteen  and  twenty 
per  cent,  on  your  debts  ;  with  the  accumulated  interest, 
you  will  soon  greatly  increase  the  capital  of  the  debts. 
What  will  you  do?" 

'*  I  must  sell,  must  I  not? " 

"  As  you  will.  I  believe  it  is  your  best  way,  unless, 
nevertheless,  as  you  have  for  some  time  the  use  of  your 
son's  property,  you  should  not  prefer  making  your  own 
profit  of  the  disorder." 

"No,  M.  Bricolin,  I  have  no  such  intention." 

"  But  you  might  still  draw  upon  this  fortuue  for  money, 
and  as  the  boy  has  grandparents  who  will  leave  him 
something,  he  would  not  be  bankrupt  when  he  came  of 
age." 

"The  argument  is  good,"  said  Marcelle,  coldly,  "but 
I  choose  a  very  different  course.  I  will  sell  everything, 
so  that  the  liabilities  of  the  inheritance  may  not  exceed 
the  capital ;  and  as  for  my  own  property,  I  will  free  it, 
to  provide  means  for  the  suitable  education  of  my  son." 

"In  this  case,  you  wish  to  sell  Blanchemont ? " 

"  Yes,  M.  Bricolin,  immediately." 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT,  67 

"Immediately?  I  should  think  so.  For  one  in  your 
position,  who  wishes  to  clear  one's  self,  there  is  not  a  day 
to  lose,  since  each  day  makes  a  hole  in  the  purse.  But 
do  you  think  it  an  easy  thing  to  sell  an  estate  of  such 
importance  immediately,  either  as  a  whole,  or  in  divis- 
ions ?  As  well  say  that  by  to-morrow  you  could  build  a 
chateau  like  this,  solid  enough  to  last  five  or  six  hundred 
years.  You  must  know  that  in  these  days  of  ours,  funds 
are  invested  only  in  manufactures,  in  railroads,  and 
other  great  concerns,  where  there  is  cent,  per  cent,  to 
lose  or  gain.  As  for  real  estate,  it  is  the  devil  to  get 
rid  of.  In  our  country,  everybody  wants  to  sell  it,  and 
nobody  will  buy,  because  they  are  tired  of  burying  heavy 
capital  in  furrows  where  they  reap  only  a  slender  income. 
Real  estate  is  good  for  one  who  resides  upon  it,  lives  by 
it,  and  lays  up  money ;  that  is  the  life  of  country  folks 
like  me.  But  it  is  a  miserable  revenue  to  you  city  people. 
And  so  you  would  see  an  estate  worth  fifty,  or  at  most  a 
hundred  thousand,  find  eager  purchasers  among  men  like 
me.  Our  means  are  seldom  equal  to  a  purchase  worth 
eight  hundred  thousand  francs,  and  your  Paris  notary 
would  have  to  look  up  a  capitalist  with  more  money 
than  he  knows  what  to  do  with.  Do  you  imagine  there 
are  many  such  nowadays,  when  a  thousand  larger 
games  are  open,  the  exchange,  the  roulette  table,  railroad 
bonds,  and  government  places?  You  must  come  across 
some  timid  old  noble  who  had  rather  place  his  money 
at  two  per  cent.,  for  fear  of  a  revolution,  than  to  plunge 
into  the  splendid  speculations  which  tempt  everybody  in 
these  days  of  ours.  And  then  a  handsome  house  would 
be  essential,  where  the  old  proprietor  could  finish  his 
days.  But  you  see  your  chateau  ?  I  would  not  take  it 
for  the  building  materials.  The  rotten  wood  and  broken 
stone  would  not  pay  for  the  trouble  of  pulling  it  down. 
So  that  you  might,  indeed,  by  advertising  your  estate, 
sell  it  entire  any  morning  ;  but  you  might  as  likely  wait 
ten  years,  for  though  your  notary  should  put  upon  his 
placards,  according  to  custom,  that  it  pays  three  and 
three    and   a  half   per   cent.,   my   lease  will   be   seen, 


68  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT, 

and  show,  that  deducting  the  taxes,  it  does  not  pay 
two." 

*'  Your  advances  to  M.  de  Blanchemont  were,  perhaps, 
a  consideration  in  the  drawing  up  of  your  lease  ? "  said 
Marcelle,  smiling. 

"  Just  so,"  returned  Bricolin,  bluntly,  "  and  my  lease 
is  for  twenty  years  ;  one  is  gone  —  that  leaves  nineteen. 
You  know  all  about  it,  you  signed  it.  Perhaps  you  did 
not  read  it,  after  all.     Faith  !  that  was  your  fault." 

''True — I  complain  of  no  one.  And  it  seems  I  can 
neither  sell  by  wholesale  or  retail  ?  " 

"  By  retail,  you  will  sell  well ;  you  will  sell  dear ;  but 
you  will  not  be  paid." 

"How  so?" 

"Because  you  will  be  forced  to  sell  to  a  crowd  of 
people,  of  whom  the  greater  number  will  not  be  solvent ; 
to  peasants  who,  at  the  best,  will  pay  by  instalments  of 
a  sou  at  a  time  ;  and  to  beggars  led  away  by  the  fancy 
of  possessing  a  bit  of  land,  as  everybody  does  in  these 
days  of  ours,  and  whom  you  will  be  obliged  to  turn 
out  at  the  end  of  ten  years,  without  recovering  anything. 
You  would  not  like  to  distrain  them  ?  " 

"  I  could  never  bring  myself  to  it.  So,  M.  Bricolin, 
according  to  you,  I  can  neither  keep  nor  sell?" 

"If  you  will  be  moderate,  not  sell  dear,  and  want 
ready  money,  you  can  sell  to  somebody  I  know." 

"Who?" 

"Me." 

"  You,  Monsieur  Bricolin  ?  " 

"Me,  Nicolas  Etienne  Bricolin." 

"In  truth,"  said  Marcelle,  who  at  this  moment  re- 
called some  words  she  had  heard  drop  from  the  Miller 
of  Angibault,  "I  have  heard  of  this  before.  And  what 
are  your  proposals  ?  " 

"  I  will  arrange  everything  with  your  mortgagees  ;  I 
will  cut  up  the  estate,  sell  to  these,  buy  of  those,  keep 
what  I  like,  and  pay  you  the  rest." 

"And  will  you  pay  the  creditors  ready  money  too? 
You  are  immensely  rich,  M.  Bricolin  ! " 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 


69 


*'No,  I  shall  make  them  wait,  and,  in  one  way  or 
another,  I  will  rid  you  of  them." 

"I  thought  they  were  all  impatient  to  be  paid;  did 
you  not  tell  me  so?" 

"They  would  be  exacting  with  you,  but  they  will 
allow  me  credit." 

"Right.     Perhaps  they  consider  me  insolvent.'*" 

"  Possibly !  in  these  days  of  ours,  people  are  very 
suspicious.  Let  us  see,  Mme.  de  Blanchemont:  you 
owe  me  one  hundred  thousand  francs ;  I  will  give  you 
two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand,  and  we  are  quits." 

"That  is  to  say,  you  would  pay  me  two  hundred  and 
fifty  thousand  francs  for  what  is  worth  three  hundred 
thousand  ?  " 

"  It  is  fair  that  you  should  give  me  this  little  bonus  ; 
I  pay  ready  money.  You  may  say  it  is  for  my  own 
advantage  to  avoid  the  interest,  having  the  money  by 
me ;  but  it  is  as  much  for  your  advantage  to  have  the 
cash  in  hand,  for,  if  you  wait,  you  will  see  neither  sou 
nor  centime  of  it." 

"Thus  you  will  profit  by  the  embarrassment  of  my 
situation  to  take  a  sixth  of  what  is  left  to  me?" 

"I  have  a  right  to  do  so,  and  anybody  else  would  ex- 
act more.  You  may  be  sure  that  I  will  attend  to  your 
interests  as  much  as  possible.  Well,  my  first  word  is 
my  last.     You  will  consider  it." 

"Yes,  M.  Bricolin,  it  appears  to  me  to  require  con- 
sideration." 

"  Faith  !  I  believe  it  does  !  You  must  first  make  sure 
that  I  do  not  deceive  you,  and  am  not  deceived  myself, 
as  to  your  position  and  property.  You  are  here  now ; 
you  will  take  information,  see  everything  for  yourself; 
you  can  even  visit  your  husband's  estates  at  Blanc  ;  and, 
when  you  are  prepared,  say  in  a  month,  you  will  give 
me  your  answer.  Only,  in  thinking  of  my  offer,  you 
may  establish  your  calculations  with  certainty  upon  this 
basis :  you  may  indeed,  in  the  first  place,  make  a  net 
sale  at  double  the  price  1  offer,  but  you  will  not  get  half 
of  it,  at  least  not  these  ten  years,  in  which  time  the 
interest  you  have  to  pay  will  swallow  it  up ;  or,  in  the 


70 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT, 


second  place,  you  may  sell  to  me  at  the  loss  of  a  sixth, 
and  receive  within  three  months  two  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  francs  in  fine  gold  or  silver,  or  good  bank- 
notes, as  you  choose.  There,  I  have  done  !  Now  let  us 
go  back  to  the  house,  and  in  less  than  an  hour  dinner 
will  be  ready.  You  must  make  yourself  entirely  at  home 
with  us,  you  see,  my  lady  baroness.  We  are  on  busi- 
ness, and  unless  you  should  call  for  the  other  pint  stoup, 
it  is  a  trifle." 

Marcelle's  position  with  the  Bricolins  removed  all 
scruple  from  her  mind,  and  indeed  made  the  acceptance 
of  the  invitation  necessary.  She  promised  to  avail  her- 
self of  it,  but  desired  to  stay  at  the  old  chateau  to  write 
a  letter  in  the  intermediate  hour,  and  M.  Bricolin  left 
her  to  send  her  servants  and  baggage. 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT, 


71 


CHAPTER    IX. 

AN  UNEXPECTED   FRIEND. 

TOURING-  the  few  moments  that  she  was  left  alone, 
•*-^  Marcelle  made  many  rapid  reflections,  and  soon 
felt  that  she  derived  an  energy  from  love  which  nothing 
but  this  all-powerful  inspiration  could  have  supplied. 
She  had  been  a  little  frightened  by  the  first  sight  of  the 
forlorn  manor,  the  only  dwelling  she  possessed ;  but 
when  she  learned  that  even  this  ruin  would  not  long  be 
hers,  she  smiled,  and  began  to  look  upon  it  with  simple 
and  disinterested  curiosity.  The  lordly  escutcheon  of 
her  family  was  still  uninjured  over  the  huge  chimney- 
place. 

"And  now,"  she  said  to  herself,  "all  will  soon  be 
broken  between  me  and  the  past.  Riches  and  nobility 
fade  together,  in  these  days  of  ours,  as  this  Bricolin  says. 
O  my  God !  be  Thou  praised  for  having  made  love  for 
all  time,  and  immortal  as  Thyself!" 

Suzette  came,  bringing  her  mistress's  writing  mate- 
rials ;  but  as  she  opened  them,  Marcelle  chanced  to  turn 
her  eyes  upon  her  waiting-maid,  and  could  not  help  laugh- 
ing at  the  strange  expression  with  which  she  contem- 
plated the  bare  walls  of  the  old  chateau.  Suzette's  face 
grew  darker,  and  her  voice  had  a  decided  tone  of  revolt 
as  she  said  :  "Madame  is  determined  to  sleep  here?" 

"You  see  that  I  am,"  replied  Marcelle,  "and  here  is 
a  closet  for  you,  with  a  magnificent  view  and  plenty  of 
air." 

"I  am  much  obliged  to  madame,  but  madame  may  be 
sure  that  I  shall  not  sleep  there.  I  am  frightened  here 
in  broad  daylight,  and  what  will  it  be  at  night  ?  They 
say  that  he  walks  here,  and  I  can  easily  believe  it." 


73  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT, 

"Nonsense,  Suzette.    I  will  protect  you  from  ghosts.** 

"Madame  will  have  tlie  goodness  to  let  one  of  the 
women  on  the  farm  sleep  here,  for  I  would  set  off  on 
foot  to  get  out  of  this  dreadful  country —  " 

"You  are  tragic,  Suzette.  I  will  not  constrain  you  in 
the  least,  you  shall  sleep  where  you  like ;  but  you  must 
understand  that  if  you  are  in  the  habit  of  refusing  me 
your  services,  I  shall  be  under  the  necessity  of  parting 
with  you." 

"If  madame  expects  to  stay  long  in  this  country,  and 
live  in  this  dungeon  —  " 

"I  am  obliged  to  stay  here  a  month,  and  perhaps 
more  ;  what  will  you  decide  ?  " 

"  I  will  ask  madame  to  please  to  send  me  to  Paris,  or 
to  some  other  of  her  estates,  for  I  can  take  my  oath  that 
I  shall  die  here  before  three  days." 

"My  dear  Suzette,"  replied  Marcelle,  with  great  gen- 
tleness, "  I  have  no  other  estate,  and  it  is  not  likely  that 
I  shall  ever  again  live  in  Paris.  I  have  no  longer  a 
fortune,  my  child ;  and  it  is  probable  that  I  could  not 
keep  you  much  longer  in  my  service.  Since  you  dislike 
this  place,  it  would  be  useless  to  keep  you  here  for 
some  days  only.  I  will  pay  you  your  wages  and  your 
expenses.  The  patache  which  brought  us  has  not  gone 
back.  I  will  give  you  a  good  recommendation,  and 
my  relations  will  help  you  to  find  a  place." 

"But  how  does  madame  expect  that  I  should  go  off  all 
alone  ?  It  was  taking  a  deal  of  pains,  truly,  to  bring  me 
so  far  into  this  lost  country." 

"I  did  not  know  that  I  was  ruined,  and  I  have  but 
just  learned  it,"  replied  Marcelle,  calmly  ;  "make  me  no 
reproaches  ;  it  is  against  my  will  that  I  have  given  you 
this  vexation.  Besides,  you  will  not  go  alone  ;  Lapierre 
will  return  to  Paris  with  you." 

"Will  madame  dismiss  Lapierre  too?"  asked  Suzette, 
in  consternation. 

"I  do  not  dismiss  Lapierre.  I  return  him  to  my 
mother-in-law,  who  lent  him  to  me,  and  will  be  glad  to 
take  back  the  good  old  man  Go  and  dine,  Suzette,  and 
prepare  to  start." 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 


73 


Confounded  by  the  composure  and  quiet  sweetness  of 
her  mistress,  Suzette  burst  into  tears,  and  in  a  quick, 
and  perhaps  unreflective  return  of  affection,  besought 
that  she  would  forgive  and  retain  her. 

"No,  my  dear  child,"  replied  Marcelle,  "your  wages 
are  henceforth  beyond  my  means.  I  regret  you,  not- 
withstanding your  whims,  and  perhaps  you  will  also 
regret  me,  notwithstanding  my  failings.  But  it  is  a  neces- 
sary sacrifice,  and  the  present  time  is  not  one  for  weak- 
ness." 

"And  what  will  become  of  madame?  without  fortune, 
or  servants,  and  with  a  young  child,  in  such  a  desert? 
Poor  little  Edward  ! " 

"  Do  not  be  troubled,  Suzette  ;  you  will  certainly  find  a 
place  with  some  one  of  my  acquaintance.  We  shall  meet 
again.  You  will  see  Edward  again.  Do  not  cry  before 
him,  I  beg  of  you." 

Suzette  went  out,  but  Marcelle  had  not  yet  dipped  her 
pen  in  the  ink,  when  the  tall  miller  appeared  before  her, 
carrying  Edward  on  one  arm,  and  a  carpet-bag  on  the 
other. 

"Ah  !"  said  Marcelle,  as  he  put  the  child  in  her  lap, 
"you  are  always  busy  obliging  me,  M.  Louis.  I  am 
very  glad  that  you  have  not  gone.  I  had  scarcely  thanked 
you,  and  I  should  have  been  sorry  not  to  say  good-by." 

"No,  lam  not  gone,"  said  the  miller,  "  and  to  say 
the  truth,  I  am  in  no  hurry  to  be  off.  But  see,  madam, 
if  it  is  the  same  to  you,  do  not  call  me  monsieur.  I  am 
not  a  gentleman,  and  from  you  this  ceremony  annoys  me. 
Call  me  Louis,  or  Grand-Louis,  as  everybody  does." 

"But  I  must  remind  you  that  this  will  be  contrary  to 
equality,  and  that  after  what  you  said  this  morning — " 

"This  morning  I  was  a  brute,  a  horse,  and  a  mill- 
horse,  which  is  worse.  I  was  prejudiced — on  account 
of  your  nobility  and  your  husband  —  how  do  I  know? 
If  you  had  called  me  Louis,  I  believe  I  should  have 
called  you  —  what  is  your  name?'* 

"  Marcelle." 

"I  like  that  name,  —  Madame  Marcelle!     Ah,  welll 


74  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 

I  will  call  you  so ;  that  will  not  remind  me  of  the 
baron." 

"But  if  I  do  not  call  you  monsieur,  you  will  call  me 
plain  Marcelle,"  said  Mme.  de  Blanchemont. 

"No,  no,  you  are  a  woman,  and  one  in  a  thousand  — 
the  devil  take  me  !  Hold,  I  will  not  deny  it,  I  have  you 
in  my  heart,  especially  for  the  last  few  moments." 

"Why  for  the  last  few  moments,  Grand-Louis?" 
asked  Marcelle,  who  had  begun  to  write,  and  only 
half  heard  the  miller. 

"Because  while  you  were  talking  with  your  maid 
just  now,  I  was  on  the  stairs  with  your  rogue  of  a  boy, 
who  played  a  thousand  pranks  to  keep  me  from  going  on, 
and  I  heard  all  you  said  in  spite  of  myself.  I  ask  your 
pardon." 

"  There  is  no  harm  in  that,"  said  Marcelle ;  "  my 
position  is  no  secret,  since  I  tell  it  to  Suzette ;  and  if  it 
were,  I  am  sure  that  a  secret  would  be  well  placed  in 
your  hands." 

"Your  secrets  would  be  placed  in  my  heart,"  re- 
turned the  miller  with  emotion.  "  So  then  you  did  not 
know,  till  you  came  here,  that  you  were  ruined?" 

"  No,  I  did  not  know  it.  It  was  M.  Bricolin  who 
told  me.     All  I  expected  were  reparable  losses." 

"  And  you  are  no  more  sorry  than  this?" 

Marcelle,  who  was  now  writing,  did  not  reply ;  but, 
looking  up  after  a  moment,  she  saw  Grand-Louis  stand- 
ing before  her,  his  arms  crossed,  and  his  eyes  fixed  upon 
her  with  a  kind  of  simple  enthusiasm  and  profound 
wonder. 

"  Is  it  so  astonishing,"  said  she  to  him,  "  to  see  a  per- 
son lose  her  fortune  without  losing  her  senses  ?  Besides, 
have  I  not  enough  left  to  live  upon  ?  " 

"  I  know  pretty  well  what  you  have  left.  I  am  per- 
haps better  acquainted  with  your  affairs  than  you  are,  for 
Father  Bricolin  loves  to  talk  when  he  has  drank  his  cup, 
and  he  tired  me  to  death  with  all  this  business,  when  I 
did  not  care  a  straw  for  it.  But  it  is  all  the  same.  A 
person  who  does  not  wince  at  seeing  a  million  on  one 
side  and  half  a  million  on  the  other  go  from  her —  crac  I 


T?IE  MILLER   OP  ANGIBAULT,  75 

—  in  a  twinkling  !     I  never  saw  such  a  thing,  and  I  do 
not  understand  it  now.*' 

"  You  would  be  still  more  puzzled  if  I  told  you  that, 
as  far  as  I  am  concerned,  it  gives  me  great  pleasure." 

"  Ah  !  but  on  your  son's  account !  "  said  the  miller, 
lowering  his  voice,  that  the  boy,  playing  in  the  next  room, 
should  not  hear. 

"  I  was  somewhat  alarmed  at  the  first  moment,"  said 
Marcelle,  "but  I  soon  comforted  myself.  For  a  long' 
time  I  have  felt  it  a  misfortune  to  be  born  rich,  and  be 
destined  to  idleness,  and  the  hatred  of  the  poor,  and  the 
selfish  immunities  of  wealth.  I  have  often  been  sorry 
not  to  be  the  daughter  and  mother  of  laborers.  Now, 
Louis,  I  shall  be  one  of  the  people,  and  men  like  you  will 
be  no  longer  suspicious  of  me." 

"  You  will  not  be  one  of  the  people,"  said  the  miller ; 
"  you  have  still  a  fortune  which  they  would  look  upon  as 
immense,  though  it  be  not  much  for  you.  Besides,  this 
little  one  has  rich  relations,  who  will  not  suffer  him  to  be 
brought  up  in  poverty.  So  these  are  all  romances  of 
yours,  Madame  Marcelle  ;  but  where  the  deuce  did  you 
get  these  ideas  ?  You  must  needs  be  a  saint,  the  devil 
take  me  !  It  sounds  very  strange  to  hear  you  say  such 
things  when  all  other  people  of  wealth  only  think  of  get- 
ting more.  You  are  the  first  of  your  kind  that  I  have 
seen.  Are  there  other  rich  and  noble  persons  at  Paris 
who  think  as  you  do  ?  " 

"  There  arc  none,  I  must  confess.  But  do  not  give  me 
so  much  credit,  Grand-Louis.  The  day  may  come  when 
I  can  make  you  understand  why  1  feel  thus." 

"  Excuse  me,  but  I  suspect." 

*'  No." 

"  True,  and  the  proof  is  that  I  cannot  tell  you.  These 
are  delicate  matters,  and  you  would  tell  me  that  I  was 
too  bold  to  question  you  upon  them.  Yet  if  you  knew 
how  shamefaced  I  am  upon  this  chapter,  and  how  cap- 
able of  comprehending  the  pains  of  others  !  I  will  tell 
my  own  troubles.  Yes,  thunder  !  that  I  will.  Only  you 
and  my  mother  shall  know.  You  will  say  some  good 
words  to  me,  which  will  restore  my  senses." 


fj6  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT, 

**  And  what  if  I  told  you,  in  my  turn,  that  I  suspect?  ** 

"  You  ought  to  suspect !  That  shows  tliat  love  and 
money  are  mixed  up  in  all  these  things." 

"  I  desire  your  confidence,  Grand-Louis ;  but  here 
comes  my  old  Lapierre.  We  shall  meet  soon  again,  shall 
we  not  ?  " 

"  We  must,"  said  the  miller,  lowering  his  voice,  "  for 
I  have  many  things  to  ask  you  about  your  affairs  with 
Bricolin.  I  am  afraid  the  old  fellow  is  too  hard  upon 
you  ;  and  who  knows  but,  peasant  as  I  am,  I  may  be  of 
some  service  to  you  ?     Will  you  treat  me  as  a  friend  ?  " 

"  Certainly." 

"  And  you  will  do  nothing  without  letting  me  know?  " 

"  That  I  promise  you,  my  friend.     Here  is  Lapierre." 

"Must  I  go?" 

"  Stay  in  the  other  room  with  Edward.  I  may  have 
need  of  your  advice,  if  you  have  some  minutes  more  to 
spare." 

"  It  is  Sunday  —  and  then  I  would  have  if  it  were  any 
other  day." 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT.  77 


CHAPTER    X. 

CORRESPONDENCE. 

T  APIERRE  entered.  Suzette  had  already  told  him 
•*-'  everything.  He  was  pale  and  trembling.  Old, 
and  incapable  of  laborious  service,  he  was  only  a  kkid 
of  escort  for  Marcelle  on  her  journey.  But  without  ever 
having  expressed  it,  he  was  strongly  attached  to  her,  and 
notwithstanding  the  dislike  -vhich  he,  as  well  as  Suzette, 
felt  for  the  Black  Valley  and  the  old  chateau,  he  refused 
to  quit  his  mistress,  and  declared  that  he  would  serve  her 
for  whatever  wages  she  should  think  proper  to  give  him. 

Touched  by  his  noble  devotion,  Marcelle  aifectionately 
pressed  his  hand,  and  overcame  his  resistance  by  proving 
to  him  that  he  could  be  more  useful  to  her  by  returning  to 
Paris  than  by  staying  at  Blanchemont.  She  wished  *© 
dispose  of  her  rich  furniture,  and  Lapierre  was  well  qual- 
ified to  preside  over  the  sale,  receive  the  proceeds,  and 
apply  them  to  the  settlement  of  what  small  running  ac- 
counts Mme.  de  Blanchemont  might  have  left  at  Paris. 
Upright  and  intelligent,  Lapierre  was  flattered  with  play- 
ing the  part  of  a  confidential  agent,  and  with  rendering  a 
service  to  the  mistress  from  whom  he  reluctantly  separ- 
ated. The  arrangements  for  departure  were  then  made. 
Here  Marcelle,  who  thought  of  all  the  details  of  her  sit- 
uation with  remarkable  coolness,  summoned  Grand-Louis, 
and  asked  him  if  he  thought  that  the  carriage  she  had  left 
at  *  *  *  could  be  sold  in  the  neighborhood. 

"  So  you  are  burning  your  ships?"  answered  the  mil- 
ler. "  All  the  better  for  us !  Perhaps  you  will  stay 
here  ;  and  I  ask  no  better  than  to  keep  you.  I  often  go 
to  *  *  *  on  business,  and  to  see  one  of  my  sisters,  who 
is  settled  there,  so  that  I  know  pretty  much  all  that  ia 


jrS  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAVLT. 

going  on ;  and  I  see  that  for  some  years  past  all  our 
bourgeois  are  used  to  fine  carriages  and  all  sorts  of  lux- 
ury. I  know  a  man  who  thinks  of  sending  for  one  to 
Paris.  Now  yours  is  already  here,  which  will  save  him 
the  freight,  and  with  us,  people  are  very  careful  in  little 
savings,  even  while  extravagant  in  great  follies.  Your 
carriage  seemed  to  me  good  and  handsome.  How  much 
is  such  a  thing  worth  ?  '* 

"  Two  thousand  francs." 

"  Would  you  like  me  to  go  to  *  *  *  with  M.  Lapierre  ? 
I  will  introduce  him  to  the  purchasers,  and  he  will  re- 
ceive the  price  ;  for  it  is  only  strangers  who  can  get  ready 
money  from  us." 

"If  it  were  not  for  encroaching  upon  your  time  and 
kindness,  you  could  do  the  business  alone." 

"  I  will  go  with  pleasure.  But  do  not  speak  of  it  to 
M.  Bricolin ;  he  would  want  to  buy  it  himself  the  next 
thing." 

"Well,  why  not?" 

"  Oh,  pshaw  !  that  would  be  all  that  is  wanting  to  turn 
his  —  all  his  family's  heads!  Besides,  Bricolin  would 
find  some  way  to  pay  you  only  half  its  value.  I  will  take 
charge  of  it." 

"  If  so,  will  you  bring  me  the  money,  if  possible?  for 
I  expected  to  receive  some  here,  instead  of  which  I  shall 
doubtless  have  some  to  pay." 

"  Very  well,  we  will  start  this  evening ;  that  will  not 
disturb  me,  because  it  is  Sunday ;  and  if  I  do  not  come 
back  to-morrow  evening  or  next  day  morning  with  two 
thousand  francs,  call  me  a  braggart." 

"  How  good  you  are  !  "  said  Marcelle,  thinking  of  the 
rapacity  of  her  wealthy  farmer. 

"  Sliall  I  bring  you  your  trunks,  too,  that  you  left  over 
there  ?  "  asked  G  rand-Louis. 

"  If  you  will  be  so  good  as  to  hire  a  cart  and  send 
them  to  me  —  " 

"No,  no  ;  where*s  the  use  of  hiring  a  man  and  horse? 
I  will  put  Sophie  to  the  wagon,  and  I  will  warrant  that 
Mile.  Suzette  had  rather  ride  in  the  open  air  on  a  bundle 
of  straw,  with  a  good  driver  like  me,  than  with  that  crazy 


THE  MILLER    OF  ANGIBAULT.  79 

patachon  in  his  salad-basket.  Stay  a  minute !  that  is 
not  all.  You  must  have  a  maid  ;  M.  Bricolin's  are  too 
busy  to  amuse  your  rogue  of  a  child  from  morning  till 
night.  Ah !  if  I  had  only  time  myself,  we  would  lead 
a  merry  life  together,  for  I  adore  children,  and  this  one 
has  more  wit  than  I !  I  will  lend  you  little  Fanchou, 
my  mother's  maid-servant.  We  can  do  without  her  very 
well  for  a  while.  She  will  guard  him  like  the  apple  of 
her  eye,  and  will  do  all  you  bid  her.  Her  only  fault  is 
that  she  will  say  '  Ma* am  f  *  three  times,  at  every  word 
you  speak  to  her.  But  what  would  you  have?  She 
thinks  it  polite,  and  would  expect  a  scolding  if  she  did 
not  pretend  to  be  deaf." 

"  You  are  my  good  angel,"  said  Marcelle  ;  "  and  in  my 
very  embarrassing  situation,  it  is  wonderful  that  I  should 
find  such  a  kind  heart  to  help  me." 

"  Bah !  bah !  these  are  little  friendly  services,  which 
you  will  return  in  some  way  or  other.  You  have  already 
done  me  a  great  kindness,  without  suspecting  it,  since 
you  came  here." 

"How  so?" 

"  We  will  talk  of  it  by-and-by,"  said  the  miller  with  a 
mysterious  look,  and  with  a  smile  in  which  the  earnest- 
ness of  his  passion  made  a  strange  contrast  with  the 
gayety  of  his  character. 

The  departure  of  the  miller  and  the  domestics  having 
been  fixed,  by  common  consent,  for  the  same  evening,  in 
the  cool,  as  Grand-Louis  said,  Marcelle,  having  only  a 
few  moments  before  the  dinner-hour,  wrote  in  haste  the 
two  following  letters : 

LSTTEK  I. 

*'  Mabcelle,  Baroness  of  Blanchemont,  to  the  Countess  of 

Blanchemont,  her  mother-in-law : 

"Dear  Mamma, — I  address  myself  to  you  as  the 
bravest  of  women  and  the  best  head  in  the  family,  to 
announce  to  you,  and  to  desire  you  to  announce  to  the 
worthy  count  and  to  the  rest  of  our  dear  relatives,  a  piece 
of  news  which  will,  I  am  sure,  aifect  you  more  than  it 


i 


So  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 

does  me.  You  have  too  often  shared  with  me  your  ap- 
prehensions, and  we  have  talked  too  much  on  the  sub](?ct 
now  before  me,  for  you  not  to  understand  me  at  the  first 
hint.  Of  Edward^s  fortune^  there  is  nothing^  ahsolutehj 
nothing^  left.  Of  mine,  there  remains  two  hundred  and 
fifty  thousand  or  three  hundred  thousand  francs.  I  still 
know  my  situation  only  through  a  man  who  would  be  in- 
terested in  exaggerating,  if  the  thing  were  possible,  the 
disaster,  but  who  has  too  much  sense  to  attempt  to  de- 
ceive me,  when  to-morrow,  or  the  day  after,  I  can  pro- 
cure my  own  information.  I  send  good  Lapierre  back 
to  you,  and  need  not  urge  you  to  take  him  again.  You 
gave  him  to  me  for  the  purpose  of  keeping  some  order 
and  economy  in  my  household  expenses.  He  did  his  best ; 
but  of  what  avail  was  the  domestic  saving,  when  the  pro- 
digality without  was  so  imcontroUed  and  boundless? 
Certain  reasons,  which  he  will  himself  explain  to  you, 
oblige  me  to  hasten  his  departure,  and  this  makes  me 
write  to  you  so  hastily,  and  without  entering  into  details, 
of  which  I  am  not  yet  entirely  mistress,  and  which  you 
shall  have  later.  I  depend  upon  Lapierre*s  seeing  yow 
alone  and  giving  you  this,  so  that  you  may  have  some 
hours,  or  days,  as  you  need,  to  prepare  the  count  for  this 
revelation.  You  will  soften  it  to  him  by  repeating  what 
you  know  of  me,  how  indifferent  I  am  to  the  enjoyment 
of  wealth,  and  how  utterly  incapable  of  saying  evil  of 
any  person  or  anything  in  the  past.  How  can  I  help 
pardoning  him  who  was  so  unhappy  as  not  to  live  long 
enough  to  repair  his  errors  ?  Dear  mamma,  let  his  mem- 
ory receive  full  and  easy  absolution  from  your  heart  and 
mine ! 

"  Now,  two  words  about  Edward  and  myself,  who  are 
only  one  in  this  stroke  of  destiny.  I  shall  have  enough 
left,  I  hope,  to  provide  for  his  support  and  education. 
He  is  not  old  enough  to  mourn  over  losses  of  which  he  is 
ignorant,  and  of  which  he  had  better  be  left  ignorant,  as 
far  as  possible,  till  he  is  capable  of  understanding  them. 
Is  it  not  fortunate  for  him  that  this  change  in  his  circum- 
stances has  happened  before  a  luxurious  life  had  become 
a  necessity  to  him  ?     If  it  be  a  misfortune  to  be  reduced 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT.  8 1 

to  mere  necessaries,  (and  it  is  not  so  in  my  eyes,)  he  will 
not  feel  it,  and,  accustomed  henceforth  to  a  modest  way 
of  life,  he  will  think  himself  sufficiently  rich.  Since  he 
was  destined  to  fall  into  moderate  circumstances,  it  is  a 
kindness  of  Providence  to  bring  him  to  them  at  an  age 
when  the  lesson,  far  from  being  bitter,  can  be  only  useful 
to  him.  You  will  tell  me  that  other  inheritances  are  in 
store  for  him.  I  know  nothing  of  these  possibilities,  and 
have  no  desire  to  profit  by  them.  I  should  refuse  almost 
as  an  insult  the  sacrifices  which  his  family  might  impose 
upon  themselves  to  procure  me  what  is  called  an  honor- 
alile  life.  In  the  apprehension  of  what  I  have  just  learned, 
I  had  already  formed  a  plan  of  conduct.  I  am  now  con- 
firmed in  it,  and  nothing  in  the  world  shall  make  me  de- 
part from  it.  I  am  resolved  to  establish  myself  in  the 
depths  of  the  country,  where  I  will  accustom  my  boy's 
first  years  to  a  simple  and  laborious  life,  and  where  he 
will  have  neither  the  sight,  nor  the  contact  of  others' 
riches,  to  destroy  the  good  effect  of  my  example  and  my 
lessons.  I  do  not  give  up  the  hope  of  sometimes  present- 
ing him  to  you,  and  you  will  take  pleasure  in  seeing  a 
robust  and  merry  child,  instead  of  the  frail,  dreamy  crea- 
ture for  whose  existence  we  never  ceased  to  tremble.  I 
know  your  rights  over  him,  and  the  respect  I  owe  to  your 
desires  and  your  advice ;  but  I  hope  that  you  will  not 
censure  my  project,  and  that  you  will  leave  to  me  the 
guidance  of  a  childhood  in  which  a  mother's  assiduous 
cares  and  the  healthful  country  influences  will  be  of  more 
use  than  superficial  lessons  from  a  fat-salaried  professor, 
gymnasium  exercises,  and  drives  to  the  Bois  de  Boulogne. 
Do  not  be  concerned  as  to  me  ;  I  have  no  regrets  for  my 
easy  life  and  its  indolent  appliances.  I  love  the  country 
passionately,  and  I  shall  occupy  the  long  hours  of  which 
the  world  will  no  longer  rob  me,  in  instructing  myself, 
that  I  may  teach  my  son.  You  have  always  had  some 
confidence  in  me,  and  the  time  is  come  when  I  must  ask 
for  entire  trust.  I  venture  to  expect  it,  knowing  that  you 
have  only  to  question  your  own  energetic  soul  and  deeply 
maternal  heart  to  comprehend  my  designs  and  resolutions. 
•'All  this  may  meet  with  opposition  in  the  minds  of 
6 


82  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 

the  family,  but  when  you  have  once  pronounced  oae  right, 
all  will  agree  with  you.  Thus  I  place  our  present  and 
our  future  in  your  hands,  and  I  am,  with  devotion,  ten- 
derness, and  respect, 

"  Yours  for  life,  Marcelle." 

A  postscript  followed  relative  to  Suzette,  and  a  requesi 
to  have  the  family  man  of  business  sent  to  Blanc,  to  verifj 
the  ruin  of  the  property  there,  and  take  prompt  measurej 
for  its  settlement.  As  to  her  personal  affairs,  MarcelU 
could  and  would  arrange  them  herself,  with  the  assistan 
of  competent  men  on  the  spot. 

The  second  letter  was  addressed  to  Henri  Lemor. 

Letter  II. 

"What  joy  and  happiness,  Henri !  I  am  ruined.  Yoi 
will  never  more  reproach  me  for  my  wealth,  never  mor< 
hate  my  gilded  chains.  I  am  again  a  woman  whom  yoi 
can  love  without  remorse,  and  who  can  make  no  sacrifices 
for  you.  My  son  has  no  rich  inheritance,  at  least  for  the 
present.  I  have  henceforth  the  right  to  bring  him  up  ii 
your  views,  to  make  a  man  of  him,  to  confide  his  educa- 
tion, and  to  deliver  his  entire  being  to  you.  I  will  nol 
deceive  you,  we  may  have  a  little  struggle  with  his  father'^ 
family,  who,  in  their  blind  tenderness  and  aristocrati< 
pride,  would  restore  him  to  the  world  by  enriching  hio] 
in  spite  of  me.  But  we  will  triumph  by  means  of  gentle^ 
uess,  a  little  tact,  and  a  good  deal  of  firmness.  I  shall 
keep  far  enough  from  their  influence  to  paralyze  it,  an< 
we  will  enfold  the  development  of  this  young  spirit  with 
a  sweet  mystery.  It  shall  be  the  childhood  of  Jupiter  ii 
the  recesses  of  the  sacred  grottos.  And  when  he  leaver 
this  divine  retreat  to  try  his  strength,  when  he  is  temptec" 
by  wealth,  we  shall  have  made  his  soul  strong  against 
worldly  seduction,  and  the  corruption  of  gold.  Henri,  ^ 
am  cradled  in  the  sweetest  hopes ;  do  not  destroy  thei 
by  cruel  doubts,  and  scruples  which  I  should  now  cal 
pusillanimous.  You  owe  me  your  support  and  your  pro- 
tection, now  that  I  am  about  to  isolate  myself  from  a 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT.  S3 


kind  and  solicitous  family,  which  I  resist  and  leave  for 
this  only  reason,  that  they  do  not  share  your  principles. 
What  I  wrote  to  you  two  days  since,  on  quitting  Paris,  is 
thus  fully  and  easily  confirmed  by  this  note.  I  do  not  call 
you  to  me  now,  I  ought  not ;  and  prudence,  too,  exacts 
that  I  should  remain  without  seeing  you,  long  enough  to 
exclude  the  possibility  of  any  one's  attributing  my  self- 
imposed  exile  to  my  feeling  for  you.  I  do  not  tell  you 
what  retreat  I  shall  choose,  I  am  myself  ignorant.  But 
in  a  year,  Henri,  dear  Henri,  in  a  year  from  the  fifteenth 
of  August,  you  will  rejoin  me  from  wheresoever  I  call 
you.  Till  then,  unless  you  share  my  confidence  in  my- 
self, I  had  rather  that  you  should  not  write  to  me  —  but 
shall  I  have  strength  to  live  a  year  without  knowing  any- 
thing of  you  ?  No,  nor  you  either.  Write  me  two  words, 
only  to  say,  /  live  and  I  love  I  And  direct  to  the  care  of 
my  faithful  old  Lapierre,  at  the  Hotel  de  Blanchemont. 
Adieu,  Henri  I  Oh  !  if  you  could  read  my  heart,  and  see 
how  much  more  worthy  I  am  than  you  think  !  Edward 
is  well,  and  does  not  forget  you.  He  alone  will  speak  to 
me  of  you  now.  *'  M.  b." 

Having  sealed  these  two  letters,  Marcelle,  whose  only 
remaining  vanity  lay  in  the  angelic  beauty  of  her  boy,  ar- 
ranged Edward's  dress  a  little,  and  crossed  the  farm-yard. 
Dinner  was  waiting  for  her,  and,  in  her  honor,  served  in 
the  parlor,  since  there  was  no  other  eating-room  save  the 
kitchen,  which  Mme.  Bricolin,  w^ho  herself  cooked  with 
the  help  of  her  mother-in-law  and  her  servant,  found 
most  convenient,  and  where  there  was  no  danger  of  in- 
juring the  furniture.  Marcelle  soon  perceived  this  varia- 
tion from  the  habits  of  the  family.  Mme.  Bricolin, 
whose  civility  was  instinctively  tinged  with  that  ill-humor 
which  is  the  essence  of  ill-breeding,  took  pains  to  make 
her  aware  of  it,  by  continually  asking  pardon  for  the  poor 
attendance  on  table,  and  the  confusion  of  her  servants. 
Marcelle  requested  and  insisted  that  they  should  hence- 
forth resume  their  regular  customs,  declaring,  with  a  gay 
smile,  that  she  would  go  and  dine  at  the  mill  of  Angibault 
if  they  treated  her  ceremoniously. 


$4  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 

"  And  speaking  of  the  mill,"  said  Mme.  Bricolin,  after 
some  strained  expressions  of  politeness,  "  I  must  scold 
M.  Bricolin.  Ah,  there  he  is  !  Now  say,  M.  Bricolin, 
hast  thou  lost  thy  wits,  to  ask  this  miller  to  dine  with  us 
on  a  day  when  the  lady  baroness  does  us  the  honor  to  ac- 
cept our  repast?" 

"  Ah,  the  devil !  I  never  thought,"  answered  the  far- 
mer, candidly;  "  or  rather  —  I  thought  when  I  invited 
Grand-Louis,  that  madame  would  not  do  us  that  honor. 
My  lord  baron  always  refused,  thou  knowest ;  he  was 
served  in  his  chamber,  which,  by  the  way,  was  very  in- 
convenient—  in  short,  Tkibaude,  if  it  annoys  madame  to 
eat  with  the  boy,  thou  shalt  tell  him  so ;  thou  dost  not 
keep  thy  tongue  in  velvet.  I  will  have  nothing  to  do  with 
it ;    I  made  the  folly  —  it  is  not  my  business  to  mend  it." 

"  And  it  is  mine,  as  usual,"  said  sharp  Mme.  Bricolin, 
who,  as  the  eldest  of  the  Thibault  girls,  retained  her 
family  name  with  a  feminine  termination,  according  to 
the  ancient  usage  of  the  country.  "  Come,  I  will  pack 
thy  fine  Louis  home  again  ! " 

"You  would  give  me  much  pain  by  so  doing,  and  I 
believe  I  should  go  away  myself,"  said  Mme.  de  Blanche- 
mont  in  a  firm  and  even  severe  tone,  which  imposed  re- 
spect on  the  dame ;  "I  breakfasted  this  morning  with 
this  young  man,  at  his  own  house,  and  found  him  so 
obliging,  so  polite,  and  so  amiable,  that  I  should  really  be 
sorry  to  dine  without  him  this  afternoon." 

"  Indeed  !"  said  the  lovely  Rose,  who  had  listened  to 
Marcelle  with  much  attention,  and  whose  eyes  expressed 
mingled  surprise  and  pleasure ;  but  she  lowered  them 
and  blushed,  on  meeting  the  scrutinizing  and  menacing 
look  of  her  mother. 

"  It  shall  be  as  madame  pleases,"  said  Mme.  Bricolin  ; 
and  she  added,  in  an  under  tone,  to  her  servant,  who  was 
favored  with  her  confidential  observations  when  she  was 
angry : 

"  See  what  it  is  to  be  a  handsome  man  ! " 

La  Chounette  (diminutive  for  Fanchon)  smiled  with 
a  knowing  look,  which  made  her  uglier  than  usual.  She 
in  reality  thought  the  miller  a  wQjy  handsome  man,  and 


I 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT,  85 

had  a  grudge  against  him  for  not  making  love  to  her- 
self. 

"Come  then!"  said  M.  Bricolin,  "the  miller  shall 
dine  with  us.  Madame  is  right  not  to  be  proud.  It  is 
always  the  way  to  make  friends.  Rose,  go  and  call 
Grand-Louis  in  the  court.  Tell  him  the  soup  is  on  the 
table.  I  should  have  been  sorry  to  affront  the  boy.  Do 
you  know,  my  lady  baroness,  that  I  have  reason  to  stand 
up  for  this  miller  ?  He  is  the  only  one  who  does  not  keep 
double  measure,  and  does  not  change  the  grain.  Yes, 
the  only  one  in  the  country,  the  devil  take  me  !  Each 
one  of  them  is  a  greater  thief  than  the  other ;  besides, 
the  country  proverb  says,  '  Catch  a  miller,  catch  a  thief.' 
I  have  tried  them  all,  and  find  only  this  one  who  does  not 
make  false  accounts  and  vile  mixtures.  And  then  he  is 
attentive  in  every  way  to  us.  He  never  grinds  my  wheat 
on  stones  that  have  just  been  used  for  rye  or  barley.  He 
knows  that  it  spoils  the  flour,  and  makes  it  dark.  He 
piques  himself  on  pleasing  me,  because  he  knows  that  I 
depend  on  having  beautiful  bread  on  my  table.  That  is 
my  one  vanity !  I  am  mortified  if  any  one  comes  here 
and  does  not  say,  '  Ah  !  what  fine  bread  !  It  takes  you, 
Master  Bricolin,  to  raise  such  grain.' " 

"  Your  bread  is  certainly  magnificent,"  said  Marcelle, 
as  much  to  praise  the  miller  as  to  satisfy  M.  Bricolin's 
vanity. 

"Dear  heart !  what  a  fuss  for  a  speck  more  or  less  in 
the  bread,  and  for  a  bushel  more  or  less  a  week !"  cried 
Mme.  Bricolin.  "  When  we  have  millers  much  nearer, 
and  a  mill  at  the  foot  of  the  terrace,  to  do  business  with 
a  man  who  lives  a  league  off!" 

."What  is  it  to  thee?"  said  her  spouse,  "since  he 
comes  for  the  sacks  and  brings  them  back  without  taking 
a  handful  beyond  his  toll  ?  *     Besides,  he  has  a  fine,  good 


♦The  millers  in  the  Black  Valley  are  never  paid;  they  take 
their  toll  of  the  corn  with  more  or  less  fidelity,  and  are  gener- 
ally more  honest  than  M.  Bricolin  allows.  When  they  have 
much  custom,  they  make  more  than  their  living  by  their  business, 
and  can  open  a  small  trade  in  grain. 


S6  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 

mill,  two  great  new  wheels,  a  famous  reservoir,  and  never 
wants  for  water.     It  is  pleasant  never  to  wait." 

"And  then,  as  he  comes  so  far,"  said  the  dame,  "you 
always  think  yourself  obliged  to  ask  him  to  dinner  or 
supper.     Fine  economy !  " 

The  entrance  of  the  miller  put  an  end  to  this  conjugal 
dispute.  M.  Bricolin  contented  himself,  when  his  wife 
scolded,  with  shrugging  his  shoulders,  and  talking  a  little 
quicker  than  usual.  He  forgave  her  crabbed  humor 
because  her  active  and  parsimonious  management  was  of 
great  use  to  him. 

"  Come,  Rose,"  cried  Mme.  Bricolin  to  her  daughter, 
who  returned  with  Grand-Louis,  "we  are  waiting  for 
thee  to  go  to  table.  Thou  mightst  have  sent  for  the  mil- 
ler by  La  Chounette,  instead  of  running  thyself." 

"  My  father  bid  me,"  said  Rose. 

"  And  I  am  sure  you  would  not  have  come  without," 
said  the  miller,  in  a  low  voice,  to  the  young  girl. 

"  Is  that  my  thanks  for  being  scolded  on  your  account?" 
replied  Rose,  in  the  same  tone. 

Marcelle  did  not  hear  what  they  said,  but  these  stolen 
words  exchanged  between  them,  the  blushes  of  Rose  and 
the  emotion  of  Grand-Louis,  confirmed  her  in  her  sus- 
picion of  the  cause  of  Mme.  Bricolin's  aversion  for  the 
poor  fellow ;  the  fair  Rose  was  the  object  of  the  thoughts 
of  the  Miller  of  Angibault. 


THE  MILLER  OF  ANGIBAULT,  87 


CHAPTER    XI. 

DINNER  AT  THE   FARM. 

T^ESIROUS  to  advance  the  interests  nearest  the  heart 
-■^  of  her  new  friend,  and  seeing  no  danger  in  it  for 
Mile.  Bricolin,  since  her  father  and  grandmother  ap- 
peared to  favor  Grand-Louis,  Mme.  de  Blanchemont  took 
pains  to  make  him  talk  during  the  meal,  and  to  turn  the 
conversation  upon  subjects  on  which  his  information  and 
intelligence  made  him  very  superior  to  all  the  Bricolin 
family,  perhaps  even  to  the  charming  Rose.  Upon  agricul- 
ture, considered  as  a  natural  science  rather  than  as  a  com- 
mercial speculation  ;  politics,  considered  as  an  endeavor 
after  happiness  and  human  justice ;  upon  religion  and 
morals.  Grand  Louis's  ideas  were  elementary,  but  just, 
lofty,  stamped  with  good  sense  and  a  perspicacity  and 
nobleness  of  spirit,  never  before  brought  to  light  at  the 
farm.  The  Bricolins  had  only  coarsely  vulgar  subjects 
of  conversation,  and  all  their  wit  was  spent  in  scanda- 
lous and  uncharitable  talk  about  their  neighbors.  Grand- 
Louis,  liking  neither  commonplaces  nor  scandal,  spoke 
little  when  there,  and  had  never  manifested  his  powers. 
M.  Bricolin  had  settled  it  that,  like  all  handsome  men, 
he  was  dull ;  and  Rose,  who  had  always  seen  her  lover 
fearful  and  depressed,  that  is,  shamefaced  and  bashful, 
could  only  excuse  his  want  of  spirit  by  boasting  of  his 
excellent  heart.  Thus  they  were  at  first  amazed  at 
seeing  Mme.  de  Blanchemont  talk  with  him  from  choice, 
and  then  still  more  amazed  to  hear  him  speak  so 
well.  M.  Bricolin,  who,  unsuspicious  of  his  love  for 
his  daughter,  listened  to  him  with  pleasure,  was  five 
or  six  times  so  much  astonished  as  to  strike  on  the 
table  and  cry : 


88  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 

"  Thou  knowest  that,  too  I  Where  the  devil  didst 
thou  fish  that  up?" 

*'  Bah  !  in  the  river ! "  gayly  returned  Grand-Louis. 

Mme.  Bricolin  fell  by  degrees  into  sullen  silence,  a3 
she  saw  her  enemy's  success,  and  she  determined  to  warn 
M.  Bricolin  that  very  evening  of  the  discovery  she  had, 
or  thought  she  had  made,  respecting  the  sentiments  of 
this  peasant  for  his  daughter. 

As  to  the  old  mother,  she  understood  nothing  of  the 
conversation,  but  slie  thought  that  the  miller  talked  like 
a  book,  because  he  uttered  several  sentences  together 
without  hesitation  or  stammering.  Rose  did  not  appear 
to  listen,  but  she  lost  not  a  word,  and  involuntarily  her 
eyes  were  fixed  on  those  of  Grand-Louis.  There  was  a 
fifth  Bricolin,  to  whom  Marcelle  paid  little  attention. 
This  was  the  old  father  Bricolin,  dressed,  like  his  wife,  in 
peasant  costume,  who  ate  much,  said  nothing,  and  did 
not  seem  to  think  much  more.  He  was  almost  deaf, 
almost  blind,  and  seemed  entirely  idiotic.  His  old  wife 
had  led  him  to  table  like  a  child.  She  was  very  busy 
about  him,  filled  his  plate  and  his  cup,  took  away  the 
crumb  of  his  bread,  because  he  had  lost  all  his  teeth, 
and  his  hard  and  insensible  gums  could  crunch  only  the 
hardest  crusts,  but  never  spoke  to  him,  as  if  that  had 
been  lost  pains.  Nevertheless,  when  he  sat  down  she 
made  him  understand  that  he  must  take  off  his  hat,  out 
of  respect  to  Mme.  de  Blanchemont.  He  obeyed,  but 
without  appearing  to  know  why,  and  resumed  it  imme- 
diately ;  a  liberty  which  M.  Bricolin,  his  son,  after  the 
country  fashion,  also  permitted  himself.  The  miller  had 
not  abstained  from  this  custom  in  the  morning  at  the 
mill ;  but  now  he  slyly  thrust  his  cap  into  his  pocket, 
divided  between  a  new  instinct  of  deference  that  Mar- 
celle had  inspired  in  him  towards  women,  and  the  fear 
of  seeming  to  play  the  pupoy  for  the  first  time  in  his 
life. 

Meanwhile,  though  admiring  what  he  called  the  fine 
learning  of  the  tall  miller,  M.  Bricolin  soon  found  him- 
self of  a  different  opinion  in  everything.  In  agricul- 
ture, he  conceived  that  there  was  nothing  new  to  try, 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT.  89 

that  philosophers  had  never  made  any  discoveries,  and 
that  innovation  always  led  to  ruin ;  that  ever  since  the 
world  was,  up  to  tlie^e  days  of  ours,  people  had  always 
done  the  same,  and  never  would  do  better. 

"  Good  ! "  said  the  miller  ;  "  nevertheless,  the  first 
who  did  what  we  do  now,  they  who  yoked  cattle  to  open 
the  earth  and  sow  the  seed,  they  did  something  new,  and 
could  they  have  been  stopped  by  persuading  them  that 
land  which  had  never  been  tilled  could  never  become 
fertile  ?  It  is  so  in  politics ;  now  say,  M.  Bricolin,  if 
you  had  been  told  a  hundred  years  ago  that  you  should 
pay  no  more  tithes  nor  due-moneys,  that  the  convents 
should  be  destroyed  —  " 

"Bah  !  bah  !  I  might  not  have  believed  it ;  very  true, 
but  that  happened  because  it  was  to  happen.  All  is  for 
the  best  in  these  days  of  ours.  Everybody  is  free  to  make 
his  fortune,  and  nothing  will  ever  be  invented  better  than 
that." 

"  And  the  poor,  the  lazy,  the  weak,  the  stupid,  what 
do  you  make  of  them?" 

'"I  make  nothing  of  them,  for  they  are  good  for 
nothing.     The  worse  for  them  !  " 

"And  if  you  were  one  of  them,  M.  Bricolin,  which 
God  forbid !  (you  are  very  far  from  it,)  would  you  say, 
'  the  worse  for  me '  ?  No,  no,  you  were  not  saying  what 
you  thought  when  you  said,  '  the  worse  for  them  ! '  You 
have  too  much  heart  and  too  much  religion  for  that." 

"  I !  Religion?  I  laugh  at  religion,  and  so  dost  thou.  I 
can  see  it  is  trying  to  come  back,  but  I  am  not  in  the 
least  concerned.  Our  curate  is  a  good  fellow,  and  I  do 
not  interfere  with  him.  If  he  were  a  bigot,  I  should  soon 
give  him  his  walking  ticket.  Who  believes  in  all  such 
stuff  in  these  days  of  ours?" 

"And  your  wife,  and  your  mother,  and  your  daugh- 
ter, do  they  call  it  stuff?" 

"Oh,  it  pleases  them  and  amuses  them.  Women  seem 
to  need  it." 

"And  we  peasants, too,  we  are  like  women,  we  need  a 
reli^rion." 


90 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 


"  "Well  I  you  have  one  to  your  hand  ;  go  to  mass — I  do 
not  hinder  you,  if  you  do  not  force  me  to  go." 

"  Even  that  might  happen,  if  the  religion  that  we  have 
should  again  become  fanatic  and  persecuting,  as  she  has 
been  so  much  and  so  often." 

"  It  is  good  for  nothing  then  ?  Let  it  fall.  I  can  do 
very  well  without  it." 

*'  But  since  we  others  must  positively  have  one,  must 
we  have  another  ?  " 

"  Another,  another !  The  devil  I  how  thou  goest  on  I 
Make  one  thyself !  " 

"I  would  have  one  to  keep  men  from  hating,  fearing, 
and  injuring  one  another." 

"  That  would  indeed  be  something  new !  I  should 
fancy  one  like  that,  which  would  prevent  my  harvesters 
from  stealing  my  corn  at  night,  and  my  day-laborers  from 
taking  three  hours  at  noon  to  eat  their  soup." 

*'  That  would  be,  if  you  had  a  religion  which  com- 
manded you  to  make  them  as  happy  as  yourself." 

"  Grand-Louis,  you  have  true  religion  in  your  heart," 
said  Marcelle. 

"  He  has  indeed  ! "  said  Rose,  warmly. 

M.  Bricolin  dared  not  reply.  He  was  determined  to 
gain  Mme.  de  Blanchemont's  confidence,  and  not  to  give 
her  a  bad  opinion  of  him.  Grand-Louis,  who  saw  Rose's 
sudden  impulse,  glanced  a  look  of  burning  gratitude  at 
Marcelle. 

The  sun  was  low,  and  the  plentiful  dinner  drew  towards 
an  end.  M.  Bricolin,  leaning  heavily  in  his  chair,  thanks 
to  an  ample  meal  and  copious  draughts,  was  disposed  to 
betake  himself  to  his  favorite  pleasure,  of  drinking  coffee 
"  laced  "  with  brandy,  and  varied  by  liqueurs,  during  two 
or  three  hours  of  the  evening.  But  Grand-Louis,  upon 
whom  he  reckoned  for  company,  left  the  table,  and  went 
to  prepare  for  departure.  Mme.  de  Blanchemont  went 
also  to  receive  the  adieux  of  her  servants,  and  pay  them 
their  wages.  She  gave  Lapierre  her  letter  to  her  mother- 
in-law,  and,  taking  the  miller  aside,  she  intrusted  him 
with  that  addressed  to  Henri,  requesting  him  to  take  it 
himself  to  the  post. 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT.  91 

"Make  yourself  easy,"  said  he,  comprehending  that 
here  was  some  mystery.  "  It  shall  not  leave  my  hand 
till  it  falls  into  the  box,  and  no  one  shall  see  it,  not  even 
your  servants,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Thanks,  my  kind  Louis." 

"Thanks!  You  say  thanks  to  me?  Me,  who  ought 
to  say  it  on  my  knees  to  you  ?  No  ;  you  do  not  know 
what  I  owe  you  !  I  am  going  by  our  house,  and  in  two 
hours  our  little  Fanchon  shall  be  with  you.  She  is 
neater  and  gentler  than  that  great  Chounette  here." 

When  Louis  and  Lapierre  were  gone,  Marcelle  felt  for 
an  instant  mentally  distressed  at  finding  herself  alone,  at 
the  mercy  of  the  Bricolin  family.  It  made  her  melan- 
choly ;  and,  taking  Edward  by  the  hand,  she  slipped  out 
and  gained  a  little  wood  which  she  saw  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  meadow.  It  was  still  day,  and  the  sun 
sinking  behind  the  old  chateau,  threw  far  along  the 
gigantic  shadows  of  its  tall  towers.  She  had  not  gone 
far  before  she  was  joined  by  Rose,  who  felt  drawn 
towards  her,  and  whose  sweet  face  was  the  only  agree- 
able object  that  her  eyes  could  have  met  at  this  moment. 

"I  should  like  to  show  you  the  warren,"  said  the 
damsel ;  "it  is  my  favorite  spot,  and  I  am  sure  you  will 
like  it." 

"Whatever  it  be,  I  shall  think  it  pleasant  in  your 
company,"  replied  Marcelle,  passing  her  arm  familiarly 
through  Rose's. 

The  ancient  manorial  park  of  Blanchemont,  destroyed 
in  the  time  of  the  revolution,  was  thenceforth  enclosed 
by  a  deep  ditch  filled  with  running  water,  and  by  tall  quick- 
set hedges,  where  Rose  left  a  piece  of  the  trimming  of  her 
muslin  dress,  with  the  haste  and  indifierence  of  a  girl 
whose  wardrobe  is  well  filled.  The  venerable  stumps  of 
the  old  oaks  were  covered  with  young  shoots,  and  the 
warren  had  become  only  a  close  coppice,  in  which  the 
axe  had  spared  some  ancient  lords  of  the  soil,  who  now 
seemed  like  dignified  ancestors  extending  their  robust 
and  gnarled  arms  over  a  fresh  and  numerous  posterity. 
Pleasant  paths  went  up  and  down  over  the  natural 
irregularities  of  the  soil,   and  wound  under    the   close, 


92 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 


low  foliage.  It  was  a  mysterious  wood,  where  one 
might  wander  freely,  leaning  on  a  lover's  arm.  Marcelle 
drove  away  this  thought  from  her  beating  heart,  and 
fell  into  a  revery  as  she  listened  to  the  songs  of  the 
nightingales,  linnets,  and  thrushes  who  peopled  the  de- 
serted and  quiet  grove. 

The  only  avenue  not  overgrown  by  the  coppice  was  at 
the  farther  edge  of  the  wood,  and  served  as  a  wagon- 
road  for  the  farm.  Marcelle  drew  near  it  with  Rose, 
and  her  child  ran  before.  Suddenly  he  paused,  and 
came  slowly  back,  doubtful,  serious,  and  pale. 

"What  is  there?"  asked  his  mother,  accustomed  to 
interpret  all  his  impressions,  and  seeing  that  he  was 
struggling  between  fear  and  curiosity. 

"There  is  an  ugly  woman  down  there,"  answered 
Edward. 

"  She  may  be  ugly  and  good  too,"  returned  Marcelle  , 
"Lapierre  is  very  good,  but  he  is  not  handsome." 

"Oh,  Lapierre  is  not  ugly ! "  exclaimed  Edward,  who, 
like  all  children,  admired  those  whom  he  loved. 

"Take  my  hand,"  said  Marcelle,  "and  we  will  go 
and  see  this  ugly  woman." 

"No,  no,  do  not  go  there,  it  is  of  no  use,"  said  Rose, 
in  a  sad  and  embarrassed  manner,  but  without  any  sign 
of  fear.     "I  did  not  think  that  she  was  there." 

"I  wish  to  accustom  Edward  to  conquer  his  fears," 
said  Marcelle  to  her  in  a  low  voice. 

Rose  dared  not  withstand  her,  and  she  went  on.  But 
in  the  midst  of  the  avenue  she  stopped,  struck  with  a 
kind  of  terror  at  the  sight  of  the  singular  being  who  was 
slowly  advancing  towards  her. 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT.  93 


CHAPTER    XII. 

CASTLES   IN  THE   AIR. 

"DENEATH  the  majestic  arch  formed  by  the  tall  oaks 
^^  on  either  side  of  the  avenue,  which  were  touched 
with  strong  lights  and  deep  shadows  by  the  setting  sun, 
there  walked  with  measured  steps  a  woman,  or  rather  a 
nameless  being,  who  seemed  buried  in  stern  meditation. 
The  face  was  one  of  those  so  denaturalized  and  brutified 
by  misfortune,  as  to  show  neither  age  nor  sex.  Still 
there  had  been  a  certain  nobleness  in  the  regular  fea- 
tures, not  entirely  destroyed  even  by  the  terrible  ravages 
of  grief  and  disease,  and  the  long  black  hair  which 
streamed  dishevelled  from  under  her  white  cap,  over 
which  was  set  a  man's  straw  hat,  torn  and  broken,  gave 
a  sinister  cast  to  the  narrow  and  bronzed  physiognomy 
which  it  shadowed.  Of  this  face,  worn  by  fever  and 
yellow  as  satfron,  nothing  could  be  seen  but  two  large 
black  glaring  eyes,  whose  preoccupied  gaze  was  seldom 
met,  a  straight  and  well-formed,  though  somewhat  too 
prominent,  nose,  and  a  livid  and  half-open  mouth.  Pier 
garments,  disgustingly  dirty,  belonged  to  the  bourgeois 
class  ;  a  poor  gown  of  yellow  stuff,  half  unfastened  and 
trailing  on  one  side,  clung  around  a  shapeless  form  whose 
high  and  constantly  bent  shoulders  had  acquired  a  size 
disproportioned  to  the  rest  of  the  emaciated  body.  Her 
lean  and  swarthy  legs  were  bare,  and  filthy  and  ragged 
shoes  ill  defended  her  feet  against  the  flints  and  thorns, 
to  which  she  seemed,  nevertheless,  insensible.  She  walked 
slowly,  her  head  bent  forward,  her  eyes  fixed  on  the 
ground,  and  her  hands  busied  with  twisting  and  squeezing 
a  bloody  handkerchief. 

She  came   straight  towards  Mme.    de   Blanchemont, 


94 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 


who,  concealing  her  terror  that  it  might  not  infect  Ed- 
ward, waited  with  dismay  to  see  whether  she  would 
take  the  right  or  left,  that  she  might  pass  her.  But 
the  spectre,  for  this  creature  resembled  an  ill-boding 
apparition,  came  on,  without  appearing  to  notice  any 
one,  and,  judging  by  her  face,  which  did  not  indicate 
idiocy,  but  rather  leaden  despair,  she  received  no  impres- 
sion from  external  objects.  Still,  when  she  reached  the 
shadow  which  Marcelle  cast  at  her  feet,  she  stopped 
short,  as  if  she  had  met  an  insurmountable  obstacle,  and 
suddenly  turning  her  back,  resumed  her  perpetual  and 
monotonous  walk. 

"It  is  poor  Bricoline,"  said  Rose,  without  lowering 
her  voice,  though  she  was  near  enough  to  hear.  "  It  is 
my  eldest  sister,  who  is  crazy.  She  is  not  thirty,  though 
she  looks  like  an  old  woman,  and  it  is  twelve  years 
since  she  has  spoken  a  word  to  us,  or  appeared  to  hear 
our  voices.  We  do  not  know  whether  she  is  deaf.  She 
is  not  dumb,  for  she  sometimes  speaks  when  she  thinks 
herself  alone,  but  there  is  no  sense  in  what  she  says. 
She  always  wishes  to  be  alone,  and  she  is  not  ill- 
tempered  unless  she  is  crossed.  Do  not  be  afraid  of  her ; 
if  you  do  not  seem  to  see  her,  she  will  not  even  look 
at  you.  It  is  only  when  we  try  to  make  her  a  little 
cleaner  that  she  gets  angry,  and  struggles  and  screams 
as  if  we  were  hurting  her." 

"  Mamma,"  said  Edward,  trying  to  conceal  his  fear, 
"  take  me  back  to  the  house ;  I  am  hungry." 

"How  shouldst  thou  be  hungry?  thou  has  just  left 
the  table,"  said  Marcelle,  who  felt  as  ready  as  the  boy 
to  quit  this  melancholy  spectacle.  "Thou  art  surely 
mistaken  ;  come  iuto  another  path  ;  perhaps  there  is  too 
much  sun  here,  and  the  heat  tires  thee." 

"  Yes,  yes,  let  us  go  back  to  the  grove,"  said  Rose ; 
''  this  is  a  sad  sight.  There  is  no  risk  of  her  following 
us,  and  besides,  when  she  is  in  an  alley,  she  seldom 
leaves  it;  you  can  see  in  this  how  the  grass  is  worn 
away  in  the  middle,  she  has  walked  to  and  fro  so  often 
in  the  same  place.  Poor  sister !  such  a  pity !  She  was 
so  handsome  and  so  sweet !     I  remember  when  she  car- 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT, 


95 


ried  me  in  her  arms  and  took  care  of  me  as  you  do  of 
this  pretty  child.  But  since  her  misfortune  she  does  not 
know  me,  and  does  not  even  remember  that  I  exist." 

"Ah!  my  dear  Mile.  Rose,  this  is  indeed  a  terrible 
misfortune.  And  what  was  the  cause  of  it?  Was  it 
grief  or  sickness  ?     Does  any  one  know  ?  " 

"  Alas  !  yes,  we  know  well.  But  we  do  not  speak  of 
it." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  if  the  interest  I  feel  for  you  has 
led  me  to  ask  an  intrusive  question." 

"  Oh  !  it  is  another  thing  with  you,  madam.  You  seem 
to  me  so  kind  that  one  would  never  feel  humiliated  before 
you.  So  I  will  tell  you,  between  ourselves,  that  my  poor 
sister  became  crazy  in  consequence  of  being  crossed  in 
love.  She  loved  a  young  man  who  was  very  good  and 
true,  but  had  no  money,  and  our  parents  would  not  con- 
sent to  the  marriage.  The  young  man  enlisted,  and  was 
killed  at  Algiers.  Poor  Bricoline  was  always  sad  and 
silent  after  his  departure  ;  they  thought  that  time  would 
cure  her  vexation  and  disappointment,  but  she  heard  of 
his  death  in  too  cruel  a  manner.  My  mother,  thinking 
that  if  she  lost  all  hope  she  would  recover  herself,  told 
her  this  bad  news,  suddenly  and  harshly,  at  a  time  when 
such  emotion  might  have  been  fatal.  My  sister  did  not 
seem  to  hear,  and  answered  nothing.  It  was  just  supper- 
time  ;  I  i-emember  it  as  well  as  if  it  were  yesterday,  though 
I  was  very  young.  She  let  fall  her  fork,  and  looked  at 
my  mother  more  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour  without  say- 
ing a  word,  without  closing  her  eyes,  and  in  so  strange  a 
way  that  my  mother  was  frightened,  and  cried  :  '  Would 
not  one  say  she  was  going  to  eat  me?'  'You  will  come 
to  that  pass,'  said  my  grandmother,  who  is  an  excel- 
lent woman,  and  would  have  had  Bricoline  marry  her 
lover  ;  '  you  will  torment  her  so  that  you  will  make  her 
crazy.'  My  grandmother  judged  but  too  well.  My  sister 
was  crazy,  and  from  that  day  she  has  never  eaten  with 
us.  She  touches  nothing  that  is  given  her,  and  lives  al- 
ways by  herself,  avoiding  us  all,  and  subsisting  on  old 
scraps  that  she  picks  up  in  the  kitchen  when  no  one  is  by. 
Sometimes  she  throws  herself  upon  a  fowl,  kills  it,  teara 


96  THE  MILLER  OF  ANGIBAULT. 

it  with  her  fingers,  and  devours  it  all  bloody.  I  am  sure 
that  is  what  she  has  just  done,  for  there  is  blood  upon  her 
hands  and  kerchief.  At  other  times,  she  pulls  vegetables 
in  the  garden  and  eats  them  raw.  In  short,  she  lives 
like  a  savage,  and  frightens  everybody.  This  is  what 
comes  from  being  crossed  in  love ;  and  my  poor  parents 
are  heavily  punished  for  misunderstanding  their  daugh- 
ter's heart.  Yet  they  never  say  what  they  would  do  if  it 
were  to  be  done  again." 

Marcelle  thought  that  Rose  alluded  to  herself;  and  wish- 
ing to  know  how  far  she  returned  Grand-Louis's  love,  she 
encouraged  her  confidence  by  a  gentle  and  affectionate 
manner.  They  had  reached  the  opposite  border  of  the 
warren,  farthest  from  the  madwoman's  walk  ;  Marcelle 
felt  more  easy,  and  little  Edward  had  already  forgotten 
his  fear,  and  resumed  his  frolic  race  around  his  mother. 

"  Your  mother  does  seem  to  me  rather  strict,"  said 
Mmc.  de  Bkinchemoat  to  her  companion  ;  ''  but  M.  Bric- 
olin  looks  as  if  he  were  more  indulgent  to  you." 

Rose  shook  her  head.  "  Papa  makes  less  noise  about 
it  than  mamma,"  she  said.  "  He  is  more  lively  and  ca- 
ressing ;  he  makes  more  presents,  pays  more  amiable  at- 
tentions, and  indeed  he  loves  his  children  dearly,  the  good 
father !  But  in  what  concerns  fortune,  and  what  he  calls 
suitability,  his  will  is  perhaps  more  immovable  than  ray 
mother's.  I  have  heard  him  say  a  hundred  times  that 
one  were  better  dead  than  poor,  and  that  he  would  kill 
me  rather  than  consent  —  " 

"  To  marry  you  according  to  your  choice?"  said  Mar- 
celle, seeing  that  Rose  was  unable  to  express  herself. 

"  Oh !  that  was  not  what  he  said,"  returned  Rose,  with 
a  little  prudish  air.  "  I  have  never  thought  of  marriage, 
and  I  do  not  yet  know  but  that  my  choice  would  be  his. 
But,  in  short,  he  is  very  ambitious  for  me,  and  torments 
himself  already  with  the  fear  of  finding  no  son-in-law 
worthy  of  him.  For  this  reason  I  shall  not  be  married 
so  soon,  and  I  am  glad  of  it,  for  I  have  no  desire  to  leave 
my  home,  notwithstanding  the  little  vexations  I  have  from 
mamma." 

Marcelle  thought  Rose  not  quite  honest  in  this  last  deo- 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT.  97 

laration  ;  but  not  wishing  to  force  her  confidence,  she  ob- 
served that  Rose  herself  was  doubtless  very  ambitious. 

"Oh  !  not  at  all !  "  answered  Rose,  openly.  ''  I  have 
more  money  than  I  need  or  care  for ;  and  though  my 
father  says  that  as  we  are  five  children  (for  I  have  two 
sisters  and  a  brother  married),  each  one's  share  will  not 
be  so  very  large,  it  is  all  the  same  to  me.  My  tastes  are 
simple,  and  I  see  plainly  that,  as  things  go  on,  the  richer 
people  are  so  much  the  poorer  also." 

"How  so? " 

"  At  least  it  is  true  of  us  farmers.  You  of  the  nobility 
make  splendid  use  of  your  fortunes  :  you  are  even  accused, 
among  us,  of  extravagance  ;  and  when  we  see  so  many  old 
families  ruined,  we  say  that  we  will  be  wiser,  and  care- 
fully —  what  shall  I  say  ?  —  passionately  set  about  found- 
ing a  race  on  wealth.  One  should  always  double  and 
triple  all  that  one  holds  ;  at  least,  this  is  what  my  father, 
my  mother,  my  sisters  and  their  husbands,  my  aunts  and 
my  cousins,  have  repeated  to  me  in  every  key  ever  since 
I  was  born.  And  so,  not  to  delay  in  growing  rich,  they 
endure  all  sorts  of  privations.  Now  and  then  a  show  of 
expense  is  made  before  others  ;  but  in  the  private  house- 
keeping they  would,  as  the  saying  is,  shave  an  %^^'g.  They 
are  afraid  of  spoiling  their  furniture,  their  clothes,  and  of 
making  themselves  too  comfortable.  At  least,  this  is  my 
mother's  system,  and  it  is  rather  hard  to  save  all  one's 
life,  and  deprive  one's  self  of  all  pleasure  when  one  is  quite 
able  to  command  it.  And  when  it  is  necessary  to  econ- 
omize in  the  comfort,  pay,  and  appetite  of  others,  and  to 
be  hard  upon  workpeople,  it  becomes  very  sad.  As  to 
me,  if  I  were  my  own  mistress  I  would  refuse  nothing 
to  myself  nor  to  anybody  else.  I  would  live  up  to  my 
income,  and  perhaps  the  capital  would  be  none  the  worse 
for  it ;  for  people  would  love  me,  and  work  for  me  with 
zeal  and  fidelity.  Was  not  that  what  Grand-Louis  said 
at  dinner?     He  was  right." 

"  My  dear  Rose,  he  was  right  in  theory.** 

"  In  theory?" 

"I  mean  that  his  generous  ideas  apply  to  a  state  of 
society  which  does  not  yet  exist,  although  sure  to  com©  in 
7 


98 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 


time.  As  to  actual  practice,  I  mean  as  to  what  can  be 
realized  now,  you  are  much  mistaken  if  you  think  that  a 
few  good  people,  in  the  midst  of  so  many  who  are  bad, 
could  expect  to  be  understood,  loved,  or  rewarded  in  this 
life." 

"  I  am  astonished  at  what  you  say.  I  thought  that  you 
would  agree  with  me.  Then  you  think  it  right  to  crush 
those  who  labor  for  our  advantage  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  agree  with  you,  Rose,  and  yet  I  am  very  far 
from  thinking  as  you  suppose.  I  would  have  no  one  com- 
pelled to  labor  for  another,  but  that  each  should  work  for 
all,  and  in  this  way  for  God  and  for  himself  at  once." 

"  And  how  could  that  be  done? " 

"  The  explanation  would  be  too  long,  my  child,  and  I 
fear  I  should  give  but  a  poor  one.  Meanwhile,  till  the 
future  of  my  imagination  become  a  reality,  I  regard  it 
as  a  great  misfortune  to  be  rich,  and  for  my  part  am  very 
happy  to  be  so  no  longer." 

"  That  is  odd,"  said  Rose ;  "  those  who  are  rich  can 
nevertheless  do  great  good  to  those  who  are  not,  and  that 
is  the  greatest  happiness  !  " 

"  One  well-intentioned  person  can  do  but  little  good, 
even  in  giving  away  his  all,  and  then  he  would  be  utterly 
powerless ! " 

"  But  if  everybody  did  the  same  ?  " 

"  Yes,  everybody  !  That  is  what  is  needed  ;  but  it  is 
impossible  now  to  induce  all  rich  people  to  make  such  a 
sacrifice.  Even  you.  Rose,  would  not  like  to  make  it 
completely.  You  would  like  to  use  your  income  in  re- 
lieving as  much  sutferiug  as  possible,  that  is,  in  raising  a 
few  families  above  want ;  but  you  would  retain  your  cap- 
ital, and  I,  who  preach  to  you  —  I  hold  to  the  wreck  of 
my  fortune  to  save  what  is  called  the  honor  of  my  son. 
That  is,  I  must  preserve  enough  for  him  to  meet  his 
father's  debts  without  himself  falling  into  absolute  desti- 
tution, which  would  involve  lack  of  education,  exces- 
sive labor,  and  probably  death  for  a  delicate  boy,  born  of 
an  indolent  race,  and  heir  to  a  feeble  organization,  which 
is  in  this  respect  far  inferior  to  that  of  the  peasant.  Thus 
you  see  that,  with  all  our  good  intentions,  we  who  know 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 


99 


not  what  remedy  society  can  bring  to  this  condition  of 
things,  we  can  do  nothing,  unless  it  be  to  prefer  for  our- 
selves mediocrity  to  riches,  and  work  to  idleness.  This 
is  one  step  toward  virtue  ;  but  how  small  is  our  merit  in 
it,  and  what  inefficient  help  does  it  present  for  the  abound- 
ing misery  which  meets  our  eyes  and  saddens  our  hearts  !  " 

"But  the  remedy?"  said  Rose,  quite  stupefied.  "Is 
there  no  remedy  ?  The  king  ought  to  find  it  in  his  head, 
since  a  king  can  do  everything." 

"  A  king  can  do  nothing,  or  almost  nothing,"  replied 
Marcelle,  smiling  at  Rose's  simplicity.  "The  people 
must  find  it  in  their  hearts." 

"  All  this  seems  to  me  like  a  dream,"  said  the  good 
Rose.  "  It  is  the  first  time  that  I  have  heard  these  things 
talked  of.  1  think  of  them,  indeed,  sometimes  all  by  my- 
self, but  at  home  no  one  ever  says  that  the  world  does  not 
go  on  well.  They  say  that  one  should  take  care  of  one's 
self,  because  one's  own  happiness  is  the  only  thing  that 
nobody  else  will  take  care  of,  and  that  everybody  is  each 
one's  great  enemy  ;  that  is  fearful,  is  it  not?  " 

"  And  there  is  a  strange  contradiction  in  it.  The  world 
goes  very  ill,  because  it  is  filled  only  with  creatures  full  of 
mutual  fear  and  distrust." 

"But  what  is  your  thought  for  escape?  For  one  does 
not  perceive  the  wrong  without  having  the  idea  of  some- 
thing better." 

"This  idea  may  be  clear  when  all  the  world  has  con- 
ceived it  with  you,  and  assists  you  in  producing  it.  But 
when  there  are  only  a  few  against  all,  and  one  is  mocked 
at  for  thinking  of  it,  and  it  is  made  a  crime  to  speak  of 
it,  the  sight  is  troubled  and  uncertain.  This  is  the 
case,  I  do  not  say  with  the  greatest  spirits  of  our  time  — 
I  know  nothing  of  them,  I  am  but  an  ignorant  woman  — 
but  with  the  best  meaning  hearts,  and  that  is  our  present 
position." 

"  Yes,  in  these  days  of  ours^  as  papa  says,"  said  Rose, 
smiling.  Then,  with  a  sad  expression,  she  added  :  "  What, 
then,  can  I  do?  What  shall  I  do  to  be  good,  being 
rich?" 

"You  will  keep  as  a  treasure  in  your  heart,  my  deaf 


lOO  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT, 

Bose,  sympathy  with  suffering,  that  love  of  one's  neigh- 
bor which  the  Gospel  teaches,  and  the  ardent  desire  to 
sacrifice  yourself  for  the  good  of  others,  in  the  day  when 
this  individual  sacrifice  may  be  useful  to  all." 

*'That  day  will  come,  then?" 

*'Do  not  doubt  it." 

*' You  are  sure  of  it?" 

"As  of  the  justice  and  the  goodness  of  God." 

"  It  is  true,  indeed,  God  cannot  let  evil  last  forever. 
It  is  all  the  same,  my  lady  baroness  ;  you  have  dazzled 
my  brain,  and  my  head  aches  ;  but  still  it  seems  to  me 
that  I  understand  now  why  you  lost  your  fortune  so 
calmly,  and  there  are  moments  in  which  I  imagine  that 
I  could  myself  accept  a  mere  competence  with  pleasure." 

"  And  what  if  you  must  become  poor  —  suffer,  labor?" 

"  Saints  !  if  it  were  of  no  use  it  would  be  dreadful !  " 

"And  if  one  began  the  while  to  see  that  it  was  of 
some  use  ?  If  it  were  necessary  to  pass  through  a  crisis 
of  great  agony,  a  sort  of  martyrdom,  that  humanity 
might  be  saved?" 

"Well,  then,"  said  Rose,  looking  amazedly  at  Mar- 
celle,  "one  would  endure  it  patiently." 

"One  would  rush  into  it  with  enthusiasm!"  cried 
Marcelle,  with  a  look  and  tone  which  startled  Rose,  but 
electrified  her  with  sympathy,  though  to  her  own  extreme 
surprise. 

Edward  began  to  slacken  his  sport,  and  the  moon 
rose.  Marcelle  thought  it  time  to  put  the  child  to  bed, 
and  Rose  followed  her  in  silence,  still  all  confounded  by 
the  conversation  they  had  held  together.  But  falling 
back  upon  the  realities  of  life  as  she  drew  near  the  farm, 
and  heard  from  afar  her  mother's  resounding  voice,  she 
said  to  herself,  looking  at  the  young  chatelaine  walking 
before  her : 

"Can  she,  too,  be  crazy?" 


i 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIB'AT-JLT.  tov 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

ROSE. 

TSJOTWITHSTANDING  this  apprehension,  Rose  felt 
•^  ^  irresistibly  drawn  to  Marcelle.  She  helped  her  to 
undress  her  child,  surrounded  her  with  a  thousand 
charming  attentions,  and  when  about  to  leave  her,  took 
her  hand  to  kiss.  Marcelle,  who  already  loved  her  as  a 
child  of  sweet  natural  endowments,  prevented  her,  by 
kissing  both  her  cheeks.  Encouraged  and  deHghted, 
Rose  lingered. 

"  I  should  like  to  ask  you  one  thing,"  said  she  at  last. 
*'  Has  Grand-Louis  really  enough  mind  to  comprehend 
you?" 

"Certainly,  Rose!  But  what  is  that  to  you?"  an- 
swered Marcelle,  with  a  spice  of  mischief. 

"  Only  it  seemed  very  strange  to  me  to-day  to  see  that 
of  us  all,  it  was  our  miller  who  had  most  thoughts.  And 
yet  he  has  had  no  great  instruction,  poor  Louis !  " 

"But  he  has  so  much  heart  and  sense!"  said  Mar- 
celle. 

"  Oh,  indeed  he  has  heart !  I  know  him  very  well. 
I  was  brought  up  with  him.  His  elder  sister  was  my 
foster-mother,  and  my  first  years  were  passed  at  the  mill 
of  Angibault.     Did  not  he  tell  you  about  it  ?  " 

"  He  did  not  speak  of  you  to  me,  but  I  thought  I  per- 
ceived that  he  was  much  devoted  to  you." 

"He  has  always  been  very  good  to  me,"  said  Rose, 
blushing.  "His  love  of  children  is  a  proof  of  his  ex- 
celieuce.  He  was  not  more  than  seven  or  eight  when  I 
was  at  nurse  with  his  sister,  and  my  grandmother  says 
that  he  tended  me  and  amused  me  as  if  he  had  been  old 
enough  for  my  father.     It  seems,  too,  that  I  was  so  fond 


iOi  lim  M7LLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 

of  him  tliat  I  would  not  leave  him  ;  and  my  mother,  who 
did  not  dislike  him  ithen  as  she  does  now,  brought  hira 
home  with  me  for  company,  when  I  was  weaned.  He 
staid  here  two  or  three  years,  instead  of  the  two  or  three 
months  proposed  at  first.  He  was  so  active  and  service- 
able that  he  was  very  useful  to  us.  His  mother  was  then 
poorly  off,  and  my  grandmother,  who  is  her  friend, 
thought  it  a  good  plan  to  relieve  her  from  one  of  her  chil- 
dren. I  remember  well  the  time  when  Louis,  my  poor 
sister,  and  I  were  always  running  and  playing  together  in 
the  field,  or  the  warren,  or  the  barns.  But  when  he  was 
old  enough  to  be  of  use  to  his  mother  in  the  mill,  she 
sent  for  him.  We  were  so  sorry  to  part,  and  I  fretted  so 
without  him,  and  his  mother  and  sister  (my  foster- 
mother)  were  so  fond  of  me,  that  they  took  me  to 
Angibault  every  Saturday  evening  to  stay  till  Monday 
morning.  This  lasted  till  I  was  old  enough  to  be  sent  to 
boarding-school ;  and  when  I  came  out,  of  course  a  young 
man  like  the  miller,  and  a  girl  who  was  considered  a 
young  lady,  could  no  longer  be  playmates  together. 
Still  we  often  see  each  other,  especially  since  my  father 
employs  him  as  his  miller,  notwithstanding  the  distance, 
and  he  comes  here  three  or  four  times  a  week.  And 
then  I  always  take  great  pleasure  in  making  a  visit  to 
Angibault,  and  his  mother,  whom  I  love  dearly.  Well, 
madam,  can  you  conceive  that  for  some  time  my  mother 
has  an  idea  that  this  is  not  well,  and  prevents  my  go- 
ing there  ?  She  has  taken  the  greatest  dislike  to  poor 
Louis,  she  does  all  she  can  to  mortify  him,  and  has  for- 
bidden me  to  dance  with  him  at  the  assemblies,  on  pre- 
tence that  he  is  beneath  me.  But  all  of  us  young  ladies 
in  the  country,  we  always  dance  with  the  peasants  wlio 
invite  us  ;  and  besides,  it  cannot  be  said  that  the  Miller 
of  Angibault  is  a  peasant.  He  has  about  20,000  francs, 
and  has  been  better  brought  up  than  many  others.  To 
tell  you  the  truth,  my  cousin  Honore  Bricolin  does  not 
write  and  spell  as  well  as  he,  though  much  more  money 
has  been  spent  on  his  education,  and  I  cannot  see  why 
they  would  have  me  so  proud  of  my  family.*' 

"  I  cannot  understand  either,"  said  Marcelle,  who  saw 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT.  103 

that  a  little  art  was  necessary  with  Mile.  Rose,  and  that 
she  would  not  confess  herself  with  the  ardent  freedom  of 
Grand-Louis.  "Do  you  see  nothing  in  the  good  miller's 
manners  that  may  have  caused  your  mother's  dis- 
pleasure?" 

"Oh!  nothing  at  all.  He  is  a  thousand  times  more 
polite  and  well-behaved  than  any  of  our  country  bour- 
geois, who  almost  all  drink  too  much,  and  are  sometimes 
very  coarse.  He  never  said  a  word  in  my  ear  that 
could  make  me  cast  down  my  eyes." 

"But  might  not  your  mother  have  taken  up  the  sin- 
gular idea  that  he  was,  perhaps,  in  love  with  you?" 

Rose  was  confused,  hesitated,  and  ended  by  avowing 
that  her  mother  might  easily  have  persuaded  herself  of 
that. 

"  And  if  your  mother  had  guessed  truly,  would  not 
she  be  right  to  put  you  on  your  guard  against  him  ?  " 

"  Why,  that  is  as  it  may  be !  If  it  were  so,  and  if 
he  spoke  to  me !  But  he  never  said  a  word  to  me  be- 
yond friendship." 

"  And  if  he  were  deeply  enamoured  of  you  without 
daring  to  tell  you  so  ?  " 

"Then  where  would  be  the  harm?"  said  Rose,  coquet- 
tishly. 

"  You  would  be  very  wrong  to  keep  his  passion  alive 
without  wishing  to  encourage  it  seriously,"  answered 
Marcelle,  in  quite  a  severe  tone.  "  It  would  be  playing 
Avith  a  friend's  suffering ;  and  it  is  not  in  your  family. 
Rose,  that  a  disappointment  in  love  should  be  treated 
lightly!" 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Rose  with  a  roguish  look,  "  men  do  not 
go  crazy  for  such  things !  Still,"  added  she,  artlessly, 
and  hanging  her  head,  "  I  must  own  that  poor  Louis  is 
sometimes  very  sad,  and  talks  like  a  man  in  despair  — 
and  I  am  sure  I  cannot  guess  why  !  It  makes  me  very 
sorry." 

"Not  enough  so,  however,  to  make  you  condescend 
lo  understand  him  ?  " 

"  But  if  he  did  love  me,  what  could  I  do  to  comfort 
him?" 


I04  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT, 

*'  To  be  sure !  you  must  love  him,  or  avoid  him." 

"I  cau  do  neither.  It  is  as  j]jood  as  impossible  to  love 
him,  and  as  to  avoiding  him,  I  feel  too  much  friendship 
for  him  to  resolve  on  giving  him  such  pain.  If  you 
knew  how  he  looks  when  I  pretend  not  to  notice  him ! 
He  turns  quite  white,  and  that  hurts  me." 

"  Then  why  do  you  say  that  it  would  be  impossible 
for  you  to  love  him  ?  " 

"  Saints  I  can  one  love  one  whom  they  cannot  marry?" 

''But  one  can  always  marry  the  one  whom  they 
love." 

"  Oh,  not  always !  Look  at  my  poor  sister.  Her 
example  is  too  fearful  for  me  to  take  the  risk  of  follow- 
ing it." 

''You  risk  nothing,  my  dear  Rose,"  said  Marcelle, 
with  some  bitterness  ;  "  when  it  is  so  easy  to  dispose  of 
one's  love  and  one's  will,  there  is  no  love,  and  no  danger." 

"  Do  not  say  so,"  returned  Rose  with  vivacity.  "  I 
am  as  capable  as  another  of  loving,  and  risking  misfor- 
tune.    But  would  you  advise  me  to  be  so  courageous  ?  " 

"  God  forbid  !  I  would  only  help  you  to  determine  the 
state  of  your  heart,  that  you  may  not,  by  your  impru- 
dence, cause  unhappiness  to  Louis." 

"  Poor  Grand-Louis  !  —  But  see,  madam,  what  can  I 
do?  Suppose  that  my  father,  after  trying  anger  and 
threats,  consented  to  give  me  to  him ;  that  my  mother, 
terrified  by  my  sister's  fate,  should  prefer  to  sacrifice  her 
repugnance  rather  than  see  me  fall  sick,  all  of  which 
is  by  no  means  likely  ;  —  but  to  reach  this  point,  what 
quarrels,  and  scenes,  and  vexation  would  there  not  be?  " 

"You  are  afraid — you  do  not  love,  I  tell  you  ;  you  may 
be  right,  and  for  this  reason  it  is  necessary  that  Grand- 
Louis  should  go." 

This  advice,  to  which  Marcelle  always  returned, 
seemed  not  at  all  to  Rose's  taste.  Her  vanity  was  ex- 
tremely flattered  by  the  miller's  love,  especially  since 
Mme.  de  Blanchemont  had  so  raised  him  in  her  estima- 
tion, and  somewhat,  perhaps,  from  the  rarity  of  the  case. 
The  peasants  have  little  susceptibility  to  passion,  and  in 
the  bourgeois  society  in  whicL  Rose  lived,  strong  feeling 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT,  105 

is  more  and  more  uncommon  and  unknown,  among  the 
crowding  cares  of  worldly  interest.  Rose  had  read  ro- 
mances ;  she  was  proud  of  inspiring  an  extravagant  and 
hopeless  attachment,  of  which,  perhaps,  the  whole  coun- 
try side  would  one  day  talk  with  amazement.  Finally, 
Grand-Louis  was  the  favorite  of  all  the  peasant  girls, 
and  there  was  not  sufficient  distinction  between  their 
class,  and  the  parvenu  bourgeoisie  of  the  Bricolins,  to 
make  this  an  unimportant  conquest  over  the  prettiest 
girls  of  the  place. 

"Do  not  think  me  cowardly,"  said  Rose,  after  an  in- 
stant's reflection.  "  I  am  quite  able  to  reply  to  mamma 
when  she  accuses  the  poor  fellow  unjustly,  and  if  I 
should  take  a  fancy  into  my  head  —  with  help  of  you 
who  are  so  wise,  and  whom  my  father  is  so  anxious,  just 
now,  to  please — I  might  triumph  over  everything.  But 
in  the  first  place,  I  assure  you  that  I  should  not  lose  my 
senses,  like  my  poor  sister.  I  am  obstinate,  and  have 
been  so  much  spoiled  that  they  are  a  little  afraid  of  me. 
But  I  will  tell  you  what  I  should  find  hardest." 

"  Go  on,  Rose,  I  am  listening." 

"What  will  people  think  of  me,  if  I  make  this  tui- 
moil  at  home !  All  my  young  friends  will  cast  scoiri 
upon  me,  partly  through  jealousy  of  the  love  I  inspire, 
such  as  they  will  never  find  in  their  moneyed  marriages  ! 
I  shall  be  pursued  with  blame  and  mockery  by  all  my 
cousins  and  suitors,  who  think  themselves  so  grand,  and 
will  be  furious  at  my  preferring  a  peasant  to  them  ;  by 
all  the  mothers,  frightened  at  my  example  for  their 
daughters  ;  and  by  even  the  peasants,  envious  of  one  of 
themselves  for  making  what  they  call  a  great  marriage. 
'  There's  a  crazy  girl,'  one  will  say  ;  '  it  is  in  the  blood, 
and  she  will  soon  eat  raw  meat  like  her  sister.'  '  What 
a  fool,'  another  will  say, '  when  she  might  marry  a  man  of 
her  own  class  !  *  '  She  is  a  wicked  girl,'  everybody  will 
cry,  'to  grieve  the  parents  who  never  refused  her  any- 
thing. Oh  !  the  shameless,  abandoned  thing,  to  make  all 
this  scandal  about  a  laborer  because  he  is  five  feet  eight ! 
Why  not  for  her  ploughboy?  Why  not  for  Uncle 
Cadoche,  who   begs  from   door  to  door  ? '     There  will 


io6  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 

never  be  an  end  of  all  this,  and  I  think  it  is  not  well  for 
a  young  girl  to  expose  herself  to  such  things  for  love  of 
a  mail." 

"  My  dear  Rose,"  said  Marcelle,  "  your  last  objections 
do  not  appear  to  me  so  serious  as  your  first,  and  yet  I  see 
that  you  shrink  more  from  braving  public  opinion  than 
the  resistance  of  your  parents.  We  must  carefully  ex- 
amine the  'pros  and  conn  together,  and  as  you  have  re- 
lated your  history  to  me,  I  owe  you  mine.  I  will  tell  it 
to  you,  though  it  is  a  secret  —  my  life  secret !  The  time 
will  come  when  it  will  be  none,  and  meanwhile  I  am 
sure  you  will  keep  it  faithfully." 

"  Oh,  madam  !  "  cried  Rose,  throwing  herself  on  Mar- 
celle's  neck,  "  how  good  you  are  !  I  have  never  known 
auy  secrets,  and  I  have  always  longed  to  have  one  to  keep. 
Judge  whether  yours  will  be  sacred  to  me  !  It  will  ex- 
plain many  things  to  me,  for  it  seems  to  me  that  there 
must  be  a  principle  in  love  as  in  all  things,  and  no  one 
would  ever  speak  to  me  of  it,  under  pretence  that  there 
was  not,  or  ought  not  to  be,  any  such  thing  as  love.  Still 
it  seems  to  me  —  but  speak,  speak,  dear  Mme.  Marcelle ! 
I  imagine  that  possessing  your  confidence,  I  shall  have 
your  friendship." 

"  Why  not,  if  I  may  hope  to  have  yours  in  answer?" 
said  Marcelle,  returning  her  caresses. 

"Oh,  heavens!"  said  Rose,  her  eyes  full  of  tears; 
"do  you  not  see  that  I  love  you?  that  from  the  first 
glance  my  heart  leaned  toward  you,  and  is  all  yours, 
though  it  is  but  a  day  that  I  know  you  ?  How  can  it  be  ? 
I  know  nothing  of  it.  But  I  never  saw  any  one  who 
pleased  me  as  much  as  you.  I  have  seen  such  women 
only  in  books,  and  I  feel  towards  you  as  if  you  alone 
were  all  the  beautiful  novel  heroines  of  whom  I  have 
read." 

"  Then  too,  dear  child,  your  noble  heart  needs  to  love  ! 
I  will  try  not  to  be  unworthy  of  the  occasion  which 
favors  me." 

The  small  Fanchon  was  already  installed  in  the  neigh- 
boring closet,  and  already  breathed  loud  enough  to  cover 
the  voices  of  the  owls,  and  the  wailing  of  the  wind  around 


1^ 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT.  107 

the  old  turrets.  Marcelle  seated  herself  at  the  open  win 
dow,  and  while  the  quiet  stars  shone  down  from  a  sky  of 
glorious  purity,  she  took  Eose's  hand  in  hers,  and  spoke 
as  follows :  — 


loS  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT, 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

MARCELLB. 

"V/TY  story,  dear  Rose,  is  indeed  like  a  romance  ;  but  it 
^^  is  so  simple,  and  has  so  little  novelty,  that  it  is  like 
all  other  romances.  You  shall  have  it  in  as  few  words 
as  possible. 

*'  When  my  boy  was  two  years  old,  his  health  was  so 
poor  that  I  despaired  of  his  life.  My  anxiety,  my  de- 
pression, and  the  constant  care  which  I  would  intrust  to 
no  one  beside,  were  natural  reasons  for  my  retirement 
from  society,  of  which  1  had  seen  but  little,  and  that  little 
without  pleasure.  The  physicians  advised  me  to  take 
my  child  to  the  country.  My  husband  had  a  fine  estate 
twenty  leagues  from  here,  as  you  know ;  but  the  noisy 
and  profligate  life  he  led  there  with  his  friends,  his  horses, 
his  dogs,  and  his  mistresses,  deterred  me  from  trying  the 
place,  even  at  the  times  when  he  was  in  Paris.  My  pld 
Lapierre,  who  had  passed  some  time  there,  gave  me  such 
a  picture  of  the  disorder  of  the  house,  the  insolence  of 
the  servants,  whose  unpaid  wages  gave  them  the  privilege 
of  unrebuked  pillage,  and  the  disagreeable  neighborhood, 
that  I  gave  up  the  thought  of  living  there.  M.  de 
Blanchemont,  who  did  not  care  to  have  me  come  here, 
lest  I  should  become  acquainted  with  his  irregularities, 
assured  me  that  this  was  a  horrible  •  place,  and  that  the 
old  chateau  was  uninhabitable  ;  and  on  this  last  point  you 
will  allow  that  little  exaggeration  was  necessary.  He 
talked  of  buying  me  a  country  house  near  Paris  ;  but 
where  could  he  have  found  money  for  the  purchase,  when 
at  that  very  time,  without  my  knowing  it,  he  was  nearly 
ruined? 

"  Seeing  that  his  promises  came  to  nothing,  and  that 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT.  109 

my  boy  was  failing,  I  hastily  liired  half  a  house,  the  first 
and  the  only  one  I  could  find  at  the  moment,  at  Mont- 
morency, a  village  admirably  situated  near  Paris,  with  a 
very  healthy  neighborhood  of  woods  and  hills.  Houses 
there  are  in  much  request  by  Parisians,  and  even  rich 
people  go  and  live  there  in  the  simplest  manner,  for  part 
of  the  summer. 

''My  relations  and  friends  came  to  see  me  often  at 
first,  then  less  and  less,  as  always  happens  when  the  per- 
son visited  really  loves  her  retreat,  and  attracts  others  to 
it  neither  by  luxury  nor  coquetry.  Towards  the  close  of 
the  first  season,  a  fortnight  often  passed  without  ray  see- 
ing any  one  from  Paris.  I  had  no  acquaintance  with  the 
notabilities  of  the  place.  Edward  was  better  ;  I  was  calm 
and  satisfied :  I  read  much,  I  walked  in  the  woods  alone 
with  him,  a  woman  to  lead  his  ass,  a  book,  and  a  great 
dog,  the  jealous  guardian  of  our  persons.  This  life 
pleased  me  exceedingly,  and  M.  de  Blanchemont  was  de- 
lighted to  be  free  from  the  care  of  me.  He  never  came 
to  see  me.  Now  and  then  he  sent  a  servant  to  inquire 
after  his  son's  health,  and  my  pecuniary  wants,  which, 
happily  for  me,  were  very  modest ;  he  could  not  other- 
wise iiave  satisfied  them." 

"■  Sec  now  !  "  cried  Rose  ;  "  he  told  us  here  that  it  was 
for  you  he  exceeded  his  income  and  yours  —  that  you 
must  have  horses  and  carriages,  while  you  perhaps  were 
on  foot  in  the  woods,  to  save  hiring  an  ass !  " 

"  You  have  guessed  right,  dear  Rose.  When  I  asked 
my  husband  for  money,  he  told  me  such  long,  strange 
stories  about  the  poverty  of  his  tenants,  and  how  they 
were  ruined  by  the  winter's  frost,  and  the  summer's  hail, 
that,  weary  of  all  these  details,  and  frequently  duped  by 
his  generous  commiseration  for  you,  I  approved  it,  and 
waived  my  claim  to  the  enjoyment  of  my  income. 

"  The  old  house  in  which  I  lived  was  neat,  but  very 
humble,  and  I  attracted  no  attention  there.  I  occupied 
the  upper  of  its  two  stories.  Two  young  men,  of  whom 
one  w^as  sick,  lived  in  the  lower.  A  little  shady  garden, 
surrounded  by  a  high  wall,  where  Edward  used  to  play 


no  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT, 

with  his  nurse,  while  I  sat  at  the  window,  was  common 
to  botli  the  lodgers,  M.  Henri  Leraor  and  me. 

"  Henri  was  22.  His  brother  was  not  more  than  15. 
The  poor  boy  was  consumptive,  and  his  brother  nursed 
him  with  the  tenderest  care.  They  were  orphans.  Henri 
was  a  real  mother  to  the  poor  sufferer.  He  did  not  leave 
him  for  an  hour ;  he  read  to  him,  carried  him  in  his  arms 
to  take  the  air,  dressed  and  undressed  him  like  a  child, 
and,  as  the  unfortunate  Ernest  scarcely  slept,  Henri,  pale, 
exhausted,  and  haggard  with  watching,  looked  almost  as 
ill  as  he. 

"  An  excellent  old  woman  who  owned  our  house,  and 
lived  in  part  of  the  basement,  showed  great  kindness  and 
devotion  to  these  unhappy  young  people  ;  but  slie  could 
not  do  everything,  and  I  was  eager  to  second  her.  I  did 
80,  zealously  and  without  sparing  myself,  as  you  would 
have  done  in  my  place.  Rose  ;  and  even  in  the  last  days 
of  Ernest's  life,  I  scarcely  quitted  his  bedside.  He  testi- 
fied boundless  affection  and  gratitude  to  me.  Not  know- 
ing and  no  longer  feeling  the  serious  nature  of  his  disease, 
he  died  without  knowing  it,  and  almost  while  speaking. 
He  had  just  said  to  me  that  I  had  cured  him,  when  his 
breathing  ceased,  and  his  hand  stiffened  and  grew  cold  in 
mine. 

"  Henri's  grief  was  so  deep  as  to  make  him  sick,  and 
it  became  his  turn  to  be  nursed  and  watched.  The 
strength  of  the  old  landlady,  Mme.  Joly,  failed  ;  Edward 
was  fortunately  very  well,  and  I  could  divide  my  care  be- 
tween him  and  Henri.  The  duty  of  assisting  and  com- 
forting the  latter  fell  to  me  alone,  and,  by  the  end  of  the 
autumn,  I  had  the  joy  of  seeing  him  restored  to  life. 

"  You  can  easily  imagine,  Rose,  the  deep,  unalterable 
friendship  that  was  cemented  between  us  two,  amid  so 
much  grief  and  danger.  When  winter  and  the  urgency 
of  my  relations  forced  me  to  return  to  Paris,  we  had 
formed  such  delightful  habits  of  reading,  talking,  and 
walking  together  in  the  little  garden,  that  our  separation 
was  truly  heart-rending.  But  we  ventured  to  promise  to 
meet  at  Montmorency  the  following  year.     We  were  still 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT,  m 

timid  with  one  another,  and  would  have  trembled  at  giv- 
ing the  name  of  love  to  our  mutual  affection. 

"Henri  had  never  thought  of  inquiring  into  my  posi- 
tion, nor  I  into  his.  Our  expenses  were  about  the  same. 
He  asked  permission  to  come  and  see  me  in  Paris  ;  but 
when  I  gave  him  my  address  at  my  mother-in-law's,  at 
the  Hotel  de  Blanchemont,  he  appeared  surprised  and 
alarmed.  When  I  left  Montmorency  in  the  carriage  with 
armorial  bearings  which  my  relations  sent  for  me,  he 
seemed  dismayed,  and  w^hen  he  learned  that  I  was  rich 
(I  thought  I  was,  and  passed  for  such)  he  looked  upon 
himself  as  forever  separated  from  me.  The  winter 
passed  without  my  seeing  him,  or  hearing  his  name. 

"  Yet  at  this  time  Lemor  was  really  richer  than  I. 
His  father,  who  had  died  the  year  previous,  was  a  man 
of  the  people,  —  a  workman  brought  into  easy  circumstan- 
ces by  a  small  trade  and  much  ability.  His  children  had 
received  a  very  good  education,  and  Ernest's  death  left 
Henri  with  an  income  of  eight  or  ten  thousand  francs. 
But  the  coarse  and  money-making  character  of  the  trades- 
man father,  his  shocking  hardness  and  deep-seated  selfish- 
ness, had  early  revolted  Henri's  enthusiastic  and  generous 
spirit.  The  winter  after  Ernest's  death,  he  eagerly  ceded 
his  stock-in-trade,  for  a  nominal  price,  to  a  man  whom 
the  elder  Lemor  had  ruined  by  taking  advantage  of  cir- 
cumstances in  the  most  rapacious  and  ungenerous  man- 
ner. Henri  distributed  the  proceeds  of  this  sale  among 
the  workmen  whom  his  father  had  long  oppressed,  and 
withdrawing  from  their  gratitude  with  a  sort  of  aversion 
(for  he  has  often  told  me  that  these  unfortunate  men  had 
been  themselves  corrupted  and  degraded  by  their  master's 
example),  he  changed  his  abode,  and  chose  an  appren- 
ticeship to  become  himself  an  artisan.  The  preceding 
year,  and  before  his  brother's  illness  drove  him  to  the 
country,  he  had  commenced  the  study  of  mechanics. 

''  I  learned  all  these  details  through  the  old  woman  at 
Montmorency,  whom  I  visited  two  or  three  times  towards 
the  end  of  the  winter,  as  much,  I  confess,  to  hear  some- 
thing of  Henri,  as  on  account  of  the  friendship  of  which 
she  was  in  every  way  worthy.     This  woman  venerated 


112  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIDAULT. 

Lemor.  She  had  nursed  poor  Ernest  as  if  he  had  been 
her  own  son,  and  she  never  spoke  of  Henri  but  with 
clasped  hands  and  tearful  eyes.  When  I  asked  her  why 
he  did  not  come  to  see  me,  she  answered  that  my  wealth 
and  position  in  society  could  not  permit  natural  inter- 
course between  a  person  like  me  and  one  who  had  volun- 
tarily cast  himself  into  poverty.  It  was  on  this  occasion 
that  she  told  me  all  that  she  knew  of  him,  and  which  I 
have  just  related  to  you. 

"  You  cau  understand,  dear  Rose,  how  I  was  struck 
by  the  conduct  of  this  young  man,  who  in  our  intercourse 
had  shown  himself  so  simple,  modest,  and  entirely  igno- 
rant of  his  moral  greatness.  I  could  think  of  nothing 
else.  In  company,  or  in  my  solitary  chamber,  at  the 
theatre^  or  at  church,  his  remembrance  and  his  image 
were  always  in  my  heart  and  my  thoughts.  I  compared 
him  with  all  the  men  whom  I  knew,  and  how  noble  he 
appeared  to  me ! 

"  By  the  end  of  March  I  returned  to  Montmorency, 
not  hoping  to  find  my  interesting  neighbor  there.  Yet 
when  I  entered  the  garden  with  one  of  my  aunts,  who 
had  insisted  on  seeing  me  reestablished  in  the  country,  I 
had  one  moment  of  real  grief,  on  hearing  that  the  lower 
story  was  let  to  an  old  lady.  But  when  my  companion 
was  at  a  little  distance,  good  Mme.  Joly  whispered  me 
that  she  had  told  this  little  lie  because  my  aunt  seemed 
inquisitive  and  gossiping,  but  that  Lemor  was  there,  and 
now  concealed,  not  to  see  me  till  I  was  alone. 

"  I  thought  I  should  faint  with  joy,  and  was  ready  to 
die  with  my  patient  endurance  of  the  civilities  and  atten- 
tions of  my  poor  aunt.  At  last  she  went,  and  I  again 
saw  Lemor ;  and  not  that  day  alone,  but  every  day,  and 
almost  every  hour  of  the  day,  from  the  end  of  winter 
till  the  last  of  autumn.  The  few  and  short  visits  that 
were  paid  me,  and  my  necessary  journeys  to  Paris,  stole 
fi"om  us  at  most,  putting  all  the  hours  togetlier,  two  weeks 
of  our  delightful  intimacy. 

''  I  leave  you  to  judge  whether  this  life  was  happy, 
and  whether  love  became  absolute  master  of  our  friend- 
8hip.     But  our  feeling  was  as  pure  in  the  sight  of  GoU 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 


113 


and  of  my  son,  as  had  been  the  friendship  formed  at  the 
death-bed  of  Flenri's  brother.  There  was,  perhaps,  a 
little  gossip  about  it  among  the  natives  of  Montmorency, 
but  the  good  reputation  of  our  hostess,  her  discretion  with 
regard  to  the  feeling  she  could  not  but  guess,  her  warmth 
in  defending  our  conduct,  the  quiet,  retired  life  which  we 
led,  and  our  care  never  to  appear  together  out  of  the 
house, —  in  short,  the  absence  of  any  ground  for  scandal 
silenced  calumny,  and  no  word  ever  reached  the  ears  of 
my  husband  or  any  of  my  relatives. 

"  Never  was  love  more  religiously  felt  —  never  did  it 
fill  two  souls  with  a  more  healthful  influence.  My  mind 
was  transported  into  a  new  sphere.  Henri's  opinions 
may  seem  very  singular  to  the  world,  but  to  me  none  be- 
side can  be  so  true,  or  so  Christian.  The  enthusiasm  of 
faith  and  virtue  became  known  to  me  at  the  same  time 
with  that  of  feeling.  These  two  emotions  are  henceforth 
inseparably  bound  together  in  my  heart.  Henri  adored 
my  boy,  my  boy  whom  his  father  forgot,  deserted,  and 
scarcely  knew !  And  Edward  felt  the  tenderness  and 
respect  for  Lemor  that  his  father  should  have  inspired. 

"  Once  more  the  winter  tore  us  from  our  terrestrial 
paradise,  but  this  time  it  did  not  separate  us.  Lemor 
came  secretly  to  see  me  from  time  to  time,  and  we  ex- 
changed letters  almost  every  day.  He  had  a  key  to  the 
garden  ;  and,  when  we  were  prevented  from  meeting  there 
by  night,  a  cleft  in  the  pedestal  of  an  old  statue  received 
our  correspondence. 

''  You  know  that  M.  de  Blanchemont  lost  his  life  very 
recently  in  a  tragic  and  unexpected  manner,  killed  by  one 
of  his  friends  in  a  mortal  duel  about  a  silly  mistress  who 
had  betrayed  him.  I  saw  Henri  a  month  afterwards, 
and  my  sorrows  date  from  that  moment.  I  thought  it 
so  natural  to  engage  myself  to  him  for  life  !  I  wished  to 
see  him  for  one  moment,  and  fix  with  him  the  time  wtieii 
the  duties  of  my  position  would  permit  me  to  give  him 
my  hand  and  myself,  as  he  possessed  my  heart  and  soul. 
BuL  would  you  believe  it,  Rose?  His  first  impulse  was 
a  terrified  and  despairing  refusal !  The  fear  of  being 
8 


114 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 


rich,  yes,  the  dread  of  wealth,  was  more  powerful  than 
love,  and  he  fled  from  me  with  horror. 

"  I  waj  offended,  dismayed.  I  knew  not  how  to  con- 
vince him,  and  I  would  not  stay  him.  And  then,  on  re- 
flection, I  found  that  he  was  right ;  that  he  was  consistent 
with  himself,  and  faithful  to  his  principles.  I  esteemed 
him  for  it,  I  loved  him  the  more,  and  I  resolved  so  to 
order  my  life  as  no  longer  to  wound  him ;  to  quit  the 
world  altogether,  and  bury  myself  in  the  country,  far  from 
Paris,  so  as  to  break  off  all  connection  with  the  rich  and 
powerful,  whom  Lemor  looks  upon  as  alike  enemies  of 
humanity,  whether  their  action  be  wilfully  injurious  or 
merely  blind  and  involuntary. 

"  But  with  this  project,  which  was  only  secondary  in 
my  mind,  I  associated  another,  which  should  go  to  the 
root  of  the  evil,  and  forever  destroy  all  the  scruples  of  my 
lover,  my  future  husband.  I  desired  to  imitate  his  ex- 
ample, and  consume  my  fortune  in  what  we  called  at  the 
convent  good  works  —  in  what  Lemor  calls  the  work  of 
remuneration — in  what  is  just  toward  men  and  pleasing 
to  God  in  all  religious  creeds,  and  in  all  ages.  I  was  free 
to  make  this  sacrifice  without  injury  to  what  the  rich 
would  call  the  future  prosperity  of  my  son,  since  I  still 
believed  him  heir  to  a  considerable  fortune  ;  and  besides, 
in  my  secret  thought,  by  abstaining  from  the  use  of  his 
revenue  during  the  long  years  of  his  minority,  by  accumu- 
lating and  investing  his  rents,  I  should  labor  for  his  hap- 
piness also.  That  is  to  say,  that  by  bringing  him  up  in 
habits  of  sobriety  and  simplicity,  and  communicating  to 
him  the  fervor  of  my  charity,  I  should  enable  him,  in 
time,  to  consecrate  to  the  same  holy  use  a  considerable 
fortune,  augmented  by  my  economy  and  by  my  self-im- 
posed determination  not  to  use  it  in  any  way  for  my  own 
benefit,  notwithstanding  my  legal  rights  in  that  respect. 
It  seemed  to  me  that  the  artless  and  tender  soul  of  my 
child  would  respond  to  my  enthusiasm,  and  that  I  should 
heap  up  these  terrestrial  riches  for  his  future  salvation. 
Smile  if  you  will,  dear  Rose,  but  it  still  seems  to  me  that 
I  shall  succeed,  under  more  restricted  conditions,  in  mak- 
ing my  Edward  regard  things  in  this  way.     He  has  no 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT.  113 

longer  an  Inheritance  from  his  father,  and  what  is  left  to 
me  will  be  henceforth  devoted  to  him  for  the  same  end. 
1  think  I  have  no  right  to  despoil  myself  of  the  compe- 
tence that  remains  to  us  both,  for  I  conceive  that  nothing 
now  belongs  solely  to  myself,  since  he  has  no  certain  ex- 
pectations but  from  me.  The  vow  of  poverty  which  I 
would  have  taken  is  a  ne\^'  baptism,  which,  perhaps,  God 
does  not  permit  me  to  iaipose  upon  my  child  till  he 
is  old  enough  freely  to  accept  or  reject  it.  Ought  I, 
having  given  birth  to  a  creature  destined  to  enjoyment 
and  power  in  society,  to  deprive  him  forcibly  and  uncon- 
sulted  of  what  society  calls  a  great  advantage  and  a  sa- 
cred right?  In  the  general  greed  and  selfishness  which 
the  corrupting  influences  of  wealth  have  induced  in  man- 
kind, if  I  should  die,  and  leave  my  son  to  penury,  before 
I  had  had  time  to  teach  him  the  love  of  labor,  to  what 
vices  and  degradation  should  I  not  expose  his  good  but 
feeble  instincts  ?  Some  men  talk  of  a  religion  of  brother- 
hood and  community,  where  all  men  shall  be  happy 
through  loving,  and  become  rich  through  stripping  them- 
selves of  their  possessions.  It  is  said  that  the  greatest 
saints  of  Christianity,  and  the  greatest  sages  of  antiquity, 
have  been  upon  the  point  of  solving  this  problem.  It  is 
yet  farther  said  that  this  religion  is  ready  to  sink  into  the 
hearts  of  men,  though  all  seems,  in  the  actual  world,  to 
conspire  against  it,  because  the  immense  and  terrific  strife 
of  selfish  interest  must  give  rise  to  the  necessity  for  a 
change,  through  very  weariness  of  wrong,  need  of  truth, 
and  love  of  good.  I  believe  all  this  firmly.  Rose.  But, 
as  I  said  to  you  just  now,  I  know  not  what  day  God  has 
fixed  for  the  fulfilment  of  His  designs.  I  understand 
nothing  of  politics  ;  I  do  not  see  in  them  sufficiently  vivid 
gleams  of  my  ideal ;  and,  sheltered  in  the  ark  like  the  bird 
during  the  deluge,  I  wait,  pray,  suffer,  and  hope,  unheed- 
ing the  scorn  which  the  world  lavishes  on  those  who  do 
not  approve  its  injustice,  and  rejoice  in  the  calamities  of 
their  times. 

"  But  in  this  ignorance  of  the  morrow,  in  this  unchained 
tempest  of  opposing  human  forces,  I  must  strain  my  boy 
to  my  bosom,  and  aid  him  to  surmount  the  wave  which 


Ii6  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 

perhaps  is  bearing  us  to  the  shore  of  a  better  world  tlian 
this.  Alas,  dear  Rose  if  in  an  age  when  money  is  every- 
thing, everything  is  bought  and  sold.  Art,  science,  all 
instruction  —  and  consequently  all  the  virtues  —  and  re- 
ligion itself,  is  forbidden  to  those  who  cannot  pay  for  the 
advantage  of  drinking  from  these  divine  sources.  Just 
as  one  pays  for  the  sacraments  of  the  church,  must  one 
buy  with  money  the  right  to  be  a  man,  to  learn  to  read 
and  to  think,  to  know  good  and  evilA  The  poor  are  con- 
demned, save  those  of  remarkable  genius,  to  vegetate, 
deprived  of  wisdom  and  instruction  ;  and  the  beggar,  the 
poor  child,  whose  only  trade  is  to  stretch  out  the  hand  and 
utter  plaintive  sounds,  amid  what  false  and  obscure  notions 
is  his  weak  and  untrained  intelligence  obliged  to  struggle  ! 
Tiiere  is  something  terrible  in  the  thought  that  superstition 
is  the  only  religion  accessible  to  the  peasant ;  that  his  whole 
worship  is  reduced  to  forms,  of  which  he  knows  neither  the 
meaning  nor  the  origin,  and  that  God  is  to  him  only  an 
idol  favorable  to  the  harvests  and  flocks  of  those  who  vow 
to  him  an  image  or  a  candle.  While  coming  here  this 
morning,  I  met  a  procession  stopping  around  a  fountain, 
to  conjure  the  drought.  I  asked  why  they  prayed  here 
rather  than  elsewhere.  A  woman  replied  to  me,  show- 
ing a  little  plaster  statue  set  in  a  niche,  and  decked  with 
garlands  like  a  pagan  deity,*  '  Because  this  good  lady  is 
the  best  of  all  for  rain.' 

"  If  my  son  is  poor,  he  must  thus  be  idolatrous,  un- 
like the  early  Christians,  who  embraced  the  true  re- 
ligion with  holy  poverty.  I  well  know  that  the  poor  man 
may  rightfully  demand  of  me,  '  Why  should  thy  son 
know  God  and  truth  rather  than  mine?'  Alas  I  I  have 
no  reply,  but  that  I  can  save  his  son  only  by  the  sacrifice 
of  mine.  And  what  a  cruel  answer  !  Oh  !  the  hour  of 
shipwreck  is  fearful.     Each  one  flies  to  save  what  is  dear- 

*  The  Fathers  of  the  primitive  Church  bitterly  condemned 
tliis  pagan  custom  of  ornamenting  the  statues  of  the  gods. 
Minutius  Felix  speaks  admirably  and  clearly  on  this  point.  The 
Church  of  the  Middle  Ages  reestablished  the  practices  of  idol- 
atry, and  the  modern  Church  continues  this  lucrative  specula- 
tion. 


THE  MILLER    OF  ANGlBAULT. 


117 


est  to  him,  and  abandons  the  rest.  But  yet  again,  Rose, 
v/hat  can  we  poor  women  do,  who  know  enough  only  to 
weep  over  all  this  ? 

"  Thus  the  duties  imposed  on  us  by  family  ties  and  by 
humanity  are  contradictory ;  but  something  we  can  do 
for  the  family,  while  for  humanity,  unless  we  are  very 
rich,  we  can  do  nothing.  For  in  these  times,  when  small 
fortunes  are  so  rapidly  swallowed  up  by  those  greater, 
mediocrity  is  constraint  and  feebleness. 

"  This  is  why,"  continued  Marcelle,  wiping  away  a 
tear,  "  I  am  forced  to  modify  the  fair  visions  I  had  on 
quitting  Paris  two  days  ago.  But  I  still  mean  to  do  my 
best,  Rose,  not  to  surround  myself  with  little  useless  pleas- 
ures at  others'  expense.  I  wish  to  bring  myself  to  what 
is  merely  necessary,  buy  a  peasant  house,  live  as  cheaply 
as  is  possible  without  injuring  my  health  (since  I  owe  my 
life  to  Edward) ,  arrange  my  small  capital  so  as  one  day 
to  give  it  to  him,  after  having  indicated  to  him  whatever 
pious  and  useful  employment  of  it  God  may  have  revealed 
to  us  in  that  time  ;  and  meanwhile,  devote  the  least  pos- 
sible portion  of  my  humble  revenue  to  our  needs  and  the 
good  education  of  my  son,  that  I  may  always  have  where- 
with to  assist  the  poor  who  may  knock  at  my  door.  This, 
I  believe,  is  all  I  can  do,  unless  there  should  soon  be 
formed  a  truly  holy  association,  a  sort  of  new  church, 
where  some  inspired  believers  should  summon  their  breth- 
ren to  live  in  common  under  the  laws  of  a  religion  and  a 
morality  answering  to  the  noble  claims  of  the  soul,  and  to 
the  laws  of  true  equality.  Do  not  ask  me  what  these 
laws  would  precisely  be.  I  have  no  mission  to  state 
them,  since  God  has  not  given  me  the  genius  to  discover 
them.  My  intelligence  is  limited  to  the  power  of  under- 
standing them  when  revealed,  and  my  good  instincts  com- 
pel me  to  reject  the  systems  now  offered  somewhat  too 
arrogantly  under  various  names.  I  see  none  of  them  in 
which  moral  liberty  is  respected,  or  where  atheism  or 
ambition  do  not  appear  more  or  less.  You  have  perhaps 
heard  of  the  St.  Simonians  and  the  Fourierites.  Even 
these  systems  are  without  religion  and  without  love,  abor- 
tive philosophies,  rough  sketches,  where  the  spirit  of  evil 


1 1 8  THE  MILLER   OF  AN  GIB  A  UL  T. 

Bccms  to  hide  under  the  guise  of  philanthropy.  1  do  not 
absolutely  condemn  them,  but  they  repel  me  with  the  pre- 
sentiment of  a  new  snare  laid  for  the  simplicity  of  man- 
kind. 

"  But  it  is  late,  my  good  Rose,  and  your  beautiful 
bright  eyes  are  nevertheless  striving  against  the  fatigue 
of  listening  to  me.  I  have  no  inference  to  draw  for  you 
from  all  this,  save  that  we  are  both  loved  by  poor  men, 
and  that  one  of  us  aspires  to  free  herself  from  the  alliance 
of  the  rich,  while  the  other  hesitates  and  dreads  their 
opinion." 

"  Ah,  madam  !  "  said  Rose,  who  had  heard  Marcelle 
with  religious  attention,  "how  great  and  good  you  are! 
how  well  you  know  how  to  love,  and  how  plainly  I  now 
understand  why  I  love  you  !  It  seems  to  me  that  your 
story,  and  the  explanation  of  your  conduct,  have  made 
my  brain  as  large  again.  What  a  poor,  sad,  mean  life 
do  we  lead  compared  with  tliat  of  which  you  dream  ! 
My  God  !  my  God  !  I  think  I  shall  die  the  day  that  you 
go  from  here  !" 

"  I  confess,  dear  Rose,  that  but  for  you  I  should  be  im- 
patient to  go  and  build  my  cabin  among  those  of  the  poor- 
est people  ;  but  you  will  make  me  love  your  farm,  and  even 
this  old  chateau  —  Ah  !  I  hear  your  mother  calling  you. 
Kiss  me  again,  and  forgive  me  for  having  spoken  some 
harsh  words  to  you.  I  reproach  myself,  now  that  I  see 
how  sensitive  and  affectionate  you  are." 

Rose  embraced  the  young  baroness  with  eager  warmth, 
and  left  her.  Like  a  spoiled  child  as  she  was,  she  gave 
herself  the  small  pleasure  of  letting  her  mother  call  while 
she  went  slowly  towards  her.  Then  she  reproached  her- 
self, and  began  to  run  ;  but  she  could  not  bring  herself  to 
answer  till  she  was  quite  there  ;  that  shrill  voice  sounded 
in  her  ear  like  a  false  note  in  music,  after  the  sweet  har- 
mony of  Marcelle's  words. 

Still  weary  from  her  journey,  Mme.  de  Blanchemont 
slipped  into  the  bed  where  her  child  was  sleeping,  and 
drawing  the  orange-colored  curtains  of  flowered  linen,  she 
was  falling  asleep  without  thinking  of  the  indispensable 
ghosts  of  the  old  chateau,  Avhen  an  incomprehensible  noise 
compelled  her  to  listen,  and  startled  her  into  half  rising. 


T?IE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT.  119 


CHAPTER    XV. 

THE  RENCONTRE. 

'T^HE  dolse  which  broke  our  heroine's  repose  was  that 
•^  of'  i?omething  moving  to  and  fro  over  the  outside  of 
her  chamber  door,  with  singular  persistence  and  awk- 
wardness. The  touch  was  too  clumsy  and  unintelligent 
to  be  that  of  a  human  hand  feeling  for  the  lock  in  the 
dark,  and  yet,  as  the  sound  was  not  like  that  made  by  a 
rat,  Marcelle  could  form  no  other  supposition.  She 
thought  that  some  one  belonging  to  the  farm  might  sleep 
in  the  old  chateau,  perhaps  some  drunken  servant,  who, 
groping  for  his  lodging,  had  mistaken  the  story.  Then, 
remembering  that  she  had  not  taken  in  the  key,  she  rose 
to  repair  her  forgetfulness  as  soon  as  the  person  should 
go.  But  the  noise  continued,  and  Marcelle  dared  not 
open  the  door  to  effect  her  design,  for  fear  of  encounter- 
ing some  clownish  insult.  This  little  anxiety  was  begin- 
ning to  be  very  disagreeable,  when  the  doubtful  hand 
grew  impatient,  and  scratched  the  door  in  such  a  way 
that  Marcelle  was  sure  it  was  a  cat ;  and,  smiling  at  her 
alarm,  put  her  hand  on  the  latch,  to  receive  or  drive 
away  this  visitor  to  her  chamber.  But  scarcely  had  she 
opened  a  crack,  with  some  remaining  caution,  when  the 
door  was  flung  back  upon  her  with  violence,  and  the 
madwoman  stood  upon  the  threshold  before  her  eyes. 

This  visit  appeared  to  Marcelle  more  unpleasant  than 
any  she  could  have  supposed,  and  she  doubted  whether 
she  should  not  repulse  the  tlisturber  by  force,  notwith- 
standing what  she  had  been  told  '^f  the  habitually  quiet 
nature  of  her  insanity.     But  tha  disgust  which  she  felt 


I20  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 

at  the  shocking  uncleauliness  of  the  unfortunate  creature, 
and  yet  more  a  feeling  of  compassion,  prevented  her 
from  carrying  this  idea  into  execution.  The  maniac  did 
not  seem  conscious  of  her  presence,  and  it  was  probable 
that,  with  her  taste  for  solitude,  she  would  retreat  as  soon 
as  Marcelle  should  attract  her  attention.  Mme.  de 
Blanchemont  thought  it  best  to  wait  and  observe  the 
caprice  of  her  vexatious  guest ;  and  drawing  back,  she 
seated  herself  on  the  edge  of  her  bed,  closing  the  cur- 
tains behind  her,  so  that  if  Edward  should  wake,  he  might 
not  see  the  ugly  woman  who  had  frightened  him  in  the 
warren. 

Bricoline  (we  have  already  mentioned  that  in  all  fam- 
ilies of  the  peasantry  and  country  bourgeois,  the  eldest 
daughter  is  called  by  the  hereditary  name  with  a  femi- 
nine termination)  hastily  crossed  the  chamber,  and  went 
to  the  window,  which  she  opened  after  many  futile  at- 
tempts, for  the  weakness  of  her  emaciated  hands,  and 
the  length  of  her  nails  —  which  she  would  never  permit 
to  be  cut  —  made  her  very  awkward.  When  she  had 
succeeded  she  leaned  out,  and  with  a  designedly  subdued 
voice,  called  Paul.  This  was  doubtless  the  name  of 
her  lover,  whom  she  always  expected,  and  in  whose 
death  she  could  not  be  persuaded  to  believe. 

As  this  melancholy  summons  awakened  no  echo  in  tho 
silence  of  the  night,  she  sat  down  on  the  stone  bench, 
which,  in  all  antique  structures  of  this  kind  occupies  the 
deep  embrasure  of  the  window,  and  remained  mute,  con- 
stantly twisting  her  bloody  handkerchief,  and  apparently 
resigned  to  wait.  In  about  ten  minutes  she  rose  and 
called  again,  still  in  a  low  voice,  as  if  she  thought  her 
lover  concealed  in  the  bushes  about  the  moat,  and  feared 
to  awaken  the  attention  of  some  of  the  people  at  the 
farm. 

For  more  than  an  hour  the  unhappy  girl  continued 
this  course,  first  calling  Paul,  and  then  awaiting  him 
with  extraordinary  patience  and  resignation.  Her  ghastly 
face  and  deformed  figure  were  fully  displayed  by  the 
moon.  Perhaps  she  found  a  sort  of  happiness  in  this 
vain  hope.     Perhaps  the  illusion  was  so  strong  that  she 


THE  MILLER    OF  ANGIBAULT.  121 

dreamed,  while  awake,  that  he  was  there,  and  that  she 
heard  and  answered  him.  And  then,  when  the  dream 
faded,  she  recovered  it  by  calling  anew  upon  her  dead 
lover. 

Marcelle's  heart  was  wrung  as  she  observed  her.  She 
would  fain  have  surprised  all  the  secrets  of  her  madness, 
in  the  hope  of  finding  some  means  to  mitigate  her  suf- 
fering ;  but  such  insane  persons  never  explain  themselves, 
and  it  is  impossible  to  divine  whether  they  are  absorbed 
by  the  ceaseless  gnawing  of  one  thought,  or  whether 
the  action  of  their  minds  is  occasionally  suspended. 

When  the  wretched  girl  at  last  left  the  window,  she 
began  to  pace  the  room  with  the  same  slow  step  and 
gravity  of  demeanor  which  had  struck  Marcelle  in  the 
alley  of  the  warren.  She  appeared  no  longer  to  think 
of  her  lover,  and  her  strongly  contracted  countenance 
resembled  that  of  an  old  alchemist  lost  in  the  pursuit  of 
the  grand  arcanum.  This  regular  march  lasted  long 
enough  to  be  extremely  fatiguing  to  Mme.  de  Blanche- 
mont,  who  dared  neither  go  to  bed,  nor  leave  her  child 
long  enough  to  call  the  small  Fanchon.  At  last  the 
lunatic  changed  her  mood,  and  going  up  to  the  next  story, 
went  to  another  window  to  call  Paul  and  await  his  com- 
ing. 

Marcelle  then  thought  she  ought  to  go  and  tell  the 
Bricolins.  Doubtless  they  were  unaware  that  their 
daughter  had  escaped  from  the  house,  and  perhaps  ran 
the  risk  of  suicide,  or  of  an  involuntary  fall  from  a 
window.  But  Fanchon,  whom  she  roused  with  some 
difficulty  to  take  her  place  at  Edward's  bedside  while  she 
went  herself  to  the  new  chateau,  dissuaded  her  from  her 
intention. 

"Eh  !  no,  madam  !  "  said  she,  "  the  Bricolins  will  not 
stir  themselves  for  that.  They  are  used  to  seeing  this 
poor  young  lady  run  around  both  night  and  day.  She 
does  no  harm,  and  it  is  long  since  she  has  forgotten  to 
make  way  with  herself.  They  say  she  never  sleeps. 
It  is  no  wonder  that  she  is  wider  awake  in  the  moon- 
light. Shut  your  door  tight,  so  that  she  shall  not  trouble 
you  again.     You  did  well  not  to  speak  to  her ;  it  vexes 


122  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT, 

her,  and  makes  her  cross.  She  will  go  on  as  usual  wy 
there  till  day,  like  the  owls  ;  but  now  that  you  know 
what  it  is,  it  will  not  keep  you  from  sleeping." 

Little  Fanelion  spoke  quite  at  her  ease,  and,  thanks  to 
her  fifteen  years  and  quiet  temperament,  would  have 
slept  close  to  the  roar  of  cannon,  if  she  but  knew  what 
it  was.  Marcelle  found  some  difficulty  in  following 
her  example ;  but  finally,  overpowered  by  fatigue,  she 
slept,  notwithstanding  the  continual  and  regular  steps 
of  the  maniac,  which  she  heard  above  her  room,  shak- 
ing the  trembling  beams  of  the  old  chateau. 

The  next  day  Rose  was  sorry,  but  not  surprised, 
to  learn  the  incident  of  the  night. 

"Ah,  heavens!"  said  she,  "and  yet  we  shut  her  up 
closely,  knowing  that  she  is  used  to  wander  all  around, 
and  prefers  the  old  chateau  during  the  moonlight  nights. 
(That  is  the  reason  my  mother  did  not  want  to  lodge 
you  here.)  But  she  must  have  found  some  means  to  open 
her  window,  and  so  get  out.  She  is  neither  strong  nor 
skilful  with  her  hands,  but  she  has  such  patience  !  She 
has  but  one  idea,  and  never  rests.  My  lord  baron, 
whose  heart  was  not  tender  like  yours,  and  who  made 
fun  of  things  that  are  least  to  be  laughed  at,  pretended 
that  she  sought  —  now  see  if  I  can  remember  his  word 
—  the  quadrature, —  yes,  that  is  it,  the  quadrature  of 
the  circle ;  and  when  he  saw  her  pass,  he  would  say  to 
us,  'Well,  has  not  your  philosopher  yet  solved  the 
problem  ?  * " 

"  I  feel  no  inclination  to  jest  upon  a  subject  so  heart- 
rending," replied  Marcelle  ;  "  and  I  had  dismal  dreams 
last  night.  See,  Rose,  we  are  good  friends,  and  I  hope 
we  shall  be  so  more  and  more ;  and  since  you  offered 
me  your  chamber,  I  accept  it  on  condition  that  you  do 
not  leave  it,  but  that  we  share  it.  A  sofa  for  Edward, 
and  a  cot  for  me,  will  be  quite  enough." 

"  Oh !  you  make  me  perfectly  happy,"  cried  Rose, 
throwing  her  arms  round  her  neck.  "  It  will  not  give 
me  the  least  trouble.  There  are  two  beds  in  all  our 
chambers ;  it  is  the  country  custom,  so  as  to  be  always 
ready  to  receive  a  friend  or  relation,  and  I  shall  be  so 
happy  to  talk  with  you  every  evening ! " 


THE   MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT.  133 

This  day,  in  fact,  greatly  increased  the  friendship  of 
the  two  young  women.  Marcelle  yielded  herself  to  it 
with  the  more  freedom,  that  it  was  the  only  agreeable 
thing  she  could  expect  while  with  the  Bricolins.  The 
farmer  showed  her  over  a  part  of  the  estate,  talking 
incessantly  of  money  and  arrangements.  He  tried  in 
vain  to  disguise  his  desire  to  purchase,  and  Marcelle, 
who,  to  bring  this  tiresome  and  unpleasant  business  to 
an  end,  was  ready  to  make  some  of  the  required  sacri- 
fices as  soon  as  she  should  be  assured  of  the  exactitude 
of  his  statements,  had  tact  enough,  meanwhile,  to  keep 
him  uneasy.  She  understood  from  Rose  that  she  might, 
just  now,  have  great  influence  over  her  destiny ;  and 
besides,  Grand-Louis  had  made  her  promise  to  decide 
nothing  without  consulting  him.  Mme.  de  Blanchemont 
felt  entire  confidence  in  this  unexpected  friend,  and 
determined  to  await  his  return  to  choose  a  competent 
adviser.  He  knew  everybody,  and  had  too  much  judg- 
ment not  to  place  her  in  good  hands. 

We  left  the  excellent  miller  starting  for  the  town  of 
*  *  *,  with  Lapierre,  Suzette,  and  the  patachon.  They 
arrived  there  by  ten  o'clock,  and  the  next  morning,  at 
dawn,  Grand-Louis  saw  the  two  servants  in  the  Paris 
diligence,  and  took  his  way  to  the  house  of  the  bourgeois 
whom  he  had  pitched  upon  as  the  purchaser  of  the  car- 
riage. But  in  passing  the  post-office,  he  went  in  to  give 
to  the  postmaster  himself  the  letter  with  which  Marcelle 
had  charged  him.  The  first  face  which  met  his  eyes 
was  that  of  the  young  unknown,  who,  a  fortnight  before, 
had  been  straying  through  the  Black  Valley,  visiting 
Blanchemont,  and  had  been  led  by  chance  to  the  mill  of 
Angibault.  This  young  man  did  not  observe  him;  he 
was  standing  near  the  office  door,  and  reading  eagerly, 
and  with  emotion,  a  newly-received  letter.  Grand-Louis 
haviog  Mme.  de  Blanchemont's  in  his  hand,  and  remem- 
bering the  interest  excited  in  the  young  lady  by  the 
name  of  Henri  cut  upon  a  tree  on  the  bank  of  the 
Vauvre,  cast  a  side  glance  upon  the  address  of  the 
young  man's  letter,  which  it  was  easy  for  him  to  do,  as 
the  unknown  held  it  in  such  a  way  i^  to  conceal  the 


124 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 


contents,  but  completely  expose  the  outside.  With  a 
rapid  look  of  friendly  curiosity,  the  miller  saw  the  name 
of  M.  Henri  Lemor,  in  the  same  hand  as  the  address  of 
the  letter  which  he  was  carrying.  Doubtless  these  two 
letters  were  both  from  Marcelle,  and  the  unknown  was 
—  the  miller  used  no  ceremony  in  his  supposition  —  the 
lover  of  the  beautiful  widow. 

Grand-Louis  was  not  mistaken ;  Lemor  had  that  in- 
stant received  the  first  note  that  Marcelle  had  written 
from  Paris,  which  the  friend  who  took  charge  of  his 
letters  had  sent  to  the  j^oste  restante  at  ♦  *  ♦,  and  he 
was  far  from  expecting  the  happiness  of  immediately 
receiving  another,  when  Grand-Louis  sportively  slipped 
the  treasure  between  his  eyes  and  that  which  he  was 
about  reading  for  the  third  time. 

Henri  started,  and  would  have  snatched  the  letter  ;  but 
the  miller  withdrew  it,  saying,  "No,  no,  not  so  fast,  my 
boy !  The  clerk  there  may  spy  us,  and  I  have  no  fancy 
for  paying  the  fine,  which  is  not  small.  We  will  talk  a 
little  farther  off,  for  I  have  no  idea  that  you  will  have 
patience  to  wait  till  this  pretty  letter  return  from  Paris, 
where  it  would  certainly  be  sent,  spite  of  your  claim 
and  your  passport,  since  it  is  not  addressed  to  the  paste 
restante  here.     Follow  me  a  little  way." 

Lemor  followed  him,  but  the  miller  was  already  dis- 
turbed by  a  new  scruple.  "  Stay,"  said  he,  when  they 
had  reached  a  suitably  lonely  place,  "  are  you  really  the 
person  whose  name  is  upon  this  letter?" 

"  Certainly  you  have  no  doubt  of  it ;  and  you  appar- 
ently know  me,  since  you  presented  it  to  me  ?  " 

" Never  mind,  you  have  a  passport?  " 

"  Surely,  for  I  have  just  shown  it  at  the  ofiice  to  pro- 
cure my  letters." 

"  Never  mind  again,  though  you  take  me  for  a  gendarme 
in  disguise,  let  us  see  it,"  said  the  miller,  giving  him  the 
letter.     "  Hand  over,  hand  over." 

*'  You  are  very  suspicious,"  said  Lemor,  hastily 
giving  him  his  papers. 

"  Yet  a  little  moment,"  pursued  the  prudent  miller ; 
"  I  want  to  be  able  to  swear,  if  the  post-office  people  did 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 


135 


see  me  give  you  the  letter,  that  it  was  unsealed."  And 
he  quickly  broke  the  seal,  but  without  permitting  himself 
to  open  the  letter,  and  returned  it  to  Henri  as  he  took 
his  passport. 

While  the  young  man  was  eagerly  reading,  the  miller, 
not  sorry  to  have  an  opportunity  of  satisfying  his  curi- 
osity, made  acquaintance  with  the  titles  and  qualities  of 
the  unknown.  Henri  Lemor,  aged  24,  native  of  Paris, 
laboring  mechanic  by  profession,  going  to  Toulouse, 
Montpellier,  Nimes,  Avignon,  and  possibly  Toulon  and 
Algiers,  to  seek  employment  and  work  at  his  trade. 

"  The  devil !"  quoth  the  miller  to  himself;  "  a  labor- 
ing mechanic  !  beloved  by  a  baroness  !  looking  for  work, 
and  might  perhaps  marry  a  woman  wiio  has  still  300,000 
francs !  It  is  only  with  us,  then,  that  money  is  thought 
more  of  than  love,  and  the  women  are  so  proud !  There 
is  not  so  much  distance  between  the  granddaughter  of 
Father  Bricolin  the  laborer,  and  the  grandson  of  my 
grandfather  the  miller,  as  between  a  baroness  and  this 
poor  devil !  Ah  I  Mile.  Rose !  I  wish  Mme.  Mar- 
celle  could  teach  you  the  secret  of  loving ! "  Then 
making  up  the  personal  description  from  the  life  instead 
of  minding  that  in  the  passport,  Grand-Louis  went  on  to 
himself,  examining  Henri,  who  was  absorbed  in  reading: 
"Middling  height,  pale  face  —  good-looking  enough,  if 
you  will,  but  the  black  beard  is  ugly.  All  these  Paris- 
ian workmen  look  as  if  their  strength  lay  in  their  chins." 
And  the  miller  took  secret  satisfaction  in  the  comparison 
of  his  athletic  limbs  with  Lemor's  more  delicate  organ- 
ization. *'  It  seems  to  me,"  soliloquized  he,  "  that  if  it 
takes  nothing  more  remarkable  than  this  to  turn  a  sen- 
sible woman's,  ay,  and  a  fair  lady's,  head.  Mile.  Rose 
might  possibly  perceive  that  her  humble  servant  is  not 
worse  made  than  another.  But  for  all  that,  these  Paris- 
ians have  a  certain  grace,  a  manner,  black  eyes,  I  don't 
know  what  all,  that  makes  us  look  like  boobies  beside 
them.  And,  then  doubtless  this  fellow  has  more  wit 
than  size.  If  he  could  but  give  me  a  little,  and  teach 
me,  too,  his  secret  of  winning  love  !  " 


126  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT, 


CHAPTER    XTI. 

DIPLOMACY. 

"PPULL  in  the  midst  of  his  reflections,  Master  Louis 
■*-  suddenly  perceived  that  the  young  man,  lost  in  still 
more  earnest  meditation,  was  going  away  without  think- 
ing of  him. 

"  Hallo  !  comrade  !  "  cried  Grand-Louis,  running 
After  him  ;  "  do  you  want  to  leave  me  your  passport?  " 

"  Ah,  my  dear  friend,  I  forgot  you,  and  I  ask  your 
pardon  !  "  answered  Lemor.  "  You  did  me  the  kindness 
to  give  me  this  letter,  and  I  owe  you  a  thousand  thanks. 
But  I  recognize  you  now.  I  have  seen  you  before,  not 
long  since.  I  received  hospitality  at  your  mill — a 
lovely  place  —  and  such  a  good  mother !  You  are  a 
happy  man,  for  it  is  plain  to  see  that  you  are  both  open- 
hearted  and  obliging." 

''  Yes,  a  beautiful  hospitality  to  talk  about !  "  said  the 
miller.  "  But,  after  all,  it  was  your  own  fault  if  you 
would  take  nothing  but  bread  and  water.  That  gave 
me  a  bad  opinion  of  you,  that  and  your  Capuchin's 
beard !  However,  you  do  not  look  much  more  like  a 
Jesuit  than  I  do,  and  if  you  recall  my  face,  so  do  I 
yours.  As  to  being  a  happy  man,  you  had  better  envy 
other  people,  and  especially  me  !     Are  you  jesting?" 

"  I  do  not  know  what  you  mean.  Has  any  misfor- 
tune happened  to  you  since  I  saw  you  ?  " 

"  Bah  !  my  misfortune  is  an  old  one,  and  God  knows 
how  it  will  end !  But  I  have  no  more  desire  to  speak 
than  you  to  hear  of  it,  for  I  see  that  you,  too,  have  a 
buzzing  in  your  brain.  What  then  !  are  you  not  going 
to  give  me  a  word  of  answer  for  the  person  who  wrote 
to  you,  if  it  were  only  to  certify  that  I  fulfilled  my 
commission  ?  " 


THE  MILLER    OF  ANGIBAULT.  127 

*' Then  you  know  that  person?"  said  Lemor,  all 
trembling. 

"  There  now !  you  had  not  thought  to  ask  me. 
Where  are  your  wits  ?  " 

Lemor  began  to  be  annoyed  by  the  friendly,  but  ban- 
tering and  jocose,  manner  of  Grand-Louis.  He  was 
afraid  of  compromising  Marcelle,  and  yet  this  peasant's 
countenance  was  not  one  to  inspire  distrust.  But  Henri 
thought  he  should  aiFect  indifference. 

'^  I  have  not,  myself,  much  acquaintance,"  said  he, 
"  with  the  lady  who  has  done  me  the  honor  to  write  to 
me.  As  chance  lately  took  me  near  her  estates  in  the 
country,  she  thought  that  I  might  give  her  some  infor- 
mation — " 

*'  Not  you,  indeed  !  "  interrupted  the  miller,  "  as  she 
has  no  idea  that  you  have  been  there,  still  less  why  you 
came,  and  that  is  what  I  pray  you  to  tell  me,  if  you 
would  not  have  me  guess." 

"  That  is  what  I  will  answer  some  other  time,"  said 
Lemor,  with  some  impatience  and  sarcastic  pride.  "  You 
are  inquisitive,  friend,  and  I  know  not  why  you  choose 
to  think  my  conduct  mysterious." 

"  It  18  so,  friend  !  I  tell  you  that  it  is  so,  because  you 
did  not  let  her  know  that  you  had  been  to  the  Black 
Valley  I  " 

The  miller's  pertinacity  became  more  and  more  em- 
barrassing, and  Henri,  fearing  lest  he  should  fall  into 
some  snare,  or  commit  some  imprudence,  endeavored  to 
free  himself  from  this  odd  investigation. 

"I  know  neither  of  whom  nor  of  what  you  wish  to 
speak  to  me,"  he  replied,  shrugging  his  shoulders. 
"  Again  I  thank  you,  and  take  my  leave.  If  an  answer 
or  receipt  is  needed  for  the  letter  which  you  brought 
me,  I  will  send  it  by  post.  I  start  in  an  hour  for 
Toulouse,  and  have  not  time  to  stay  here  longer  with 
you." 

*'  Ah,  you  are  going  to  Toulouse ! "  said  the  miller, 
redoubling  his  pace  to  follow  him.  *••  I  should  havo 
thought  that  you  would  go  to  Blanchemont  with  me." 

'^  Why  to  Blanchemont?  " 


128  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 

"  Because  if  you  have  any  advice  to  give  the  hidy  of 
Blanchemont  upon  her  affairs,  as  you  pretend,  it  would 
be  more  polite  to  go  and  speak  with  her  than  to  write 
two  hasty  words.  She  is  well  worth  the  trouble  of 
putting  one's  self  many  leagues  out  of  one's  way  to  do  her 
a  service ;  and  as  for  me,  who  am  but  a  miller,  I  would 
go  to  the  ends  of  the  earth  for  her." 

Thus  informed,  almost  in  spite  of  himself,  of  the  spot 
chosen  by  Marcelle  for  her  temporary  retreat,  Lemor 
could  not  determine  to  part  rudely  from  a  man  who 
knew  her,  and  seemed  so  ready  to  talk  about  her.  His 
young  brain,  which  was  voluntarily  stoic,  but  deeply 
shaken  by  passion,  was  dazzled  by  the  sort  of  proposi- 
tion or  advice  given  him  to  go  to  Blanchemont.  He 
imagined  that  he  concealed  the  contradictory  desires  and 
resolutions  which  agitated  him,  but  the  penetrating 
miller  was  not  to  be  deceived,  and  read  the  perplexity  of 
his  mind  written  on  his  face.  "If  I  thought,"  said 
Lemor  at  last,  "  that  verbal  explanations  were  necessary 
f—  but  indeed  I  do  not  —  this  lady  intimates  nothing  of 
the  kind—" 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  miller  in  a  mocking  tone ;  "  thiB 
lady  thinks  you  in  Paris,  and  one  does  not  send  for  a 
man  to  come  so  far  for  a  few  words.  But  perhaps  if 
she  had  known  you  were  so  near,  she  would  have 
ordered  me  to  bring  you  back  with  me." 

"  No,  Master  Miller,  you  are  mistaken,"  said  Henri, 
alarmed  at  Grand-Louis's  penetration.  "The  questions  I 
have  the  honor  to  receive  are  not  important  enough  for 
that.     I  will  decidedly  reply  by  letter." 

And  in  choosing  this  latter  course,  Henri  felt  as  if  his 
heart  would  break.  For  notwithstanding  his  submission 
to  Marcelle's  commands,  all  his  energetic  blood  boiled  at 
the  idea  of  seeing  her  once  more  before  leaving  her  for 
a  whole  year.  But  this  cursed  miller,  with  his  com- 
mentaries, might,  through  malice  or  levity,  make  this 
step  injure  the  young  widow,  and  Lemor  felt  that  he 
must  deny  himself. 

"You  will  do  as  you  please,"  said  Grand-Louis,  some- 
what piqued  by  hii  reserve ;  "but  as  she  will  doubtless 


THE  MILLER    OF  ANGIBAULT. 


129 


question  me  about  you,  I  shall  be  obliged  to  tell  her  that 
you  seemed  no  way  pleased  at  the  idea  of  coming  to  see 
her." 

*'  She  will  certainly  be  much  distressed ! "  answered 
Lemor,  with  a  forced  laugh. 

"  Yes,  yes  !  play  Master  Sly  with  me,  comrade  ! " 
retorted  the  miller.  "  But  you  do  not  laugh  from  your 
heart." 

'••  Mr.  Miller,"  replied  Lemor,  losing  all  patience, 
"your  insinuations,  as  far  as  I  can  understand  them, 
begin  to  be  quite  mistimed.  I  do  not  know  whether  you 
are  as  much  devoted  to  the  person  in  question  as  you 
pretend ;  but  it  does  not  seem  to  me  that  you  speak  of 
her  with  as  much  respect  as  I,  who  scarcely  know  her." 

"You  are  angry?  So  much  the  better!  it  is  more 
frank,  and  teases  me  less  than  your  jesting.  Now  I 
know  how  to  deal  with  you." 

"This  is  too  much,"  said  the  irritated  Lemor,  "and 
looks  like  a  personal  provocation.  I  do  not  know  what 
absurd  ideas  you  may  attribute  to  me,  but  I  warn  you 
that  I  am  tired  of  this  game,  and  will  not  endure  your 
impertinence  much  longer." 

"Are  you  getting  angry  in  earnest?"  said  Grand- 
Louis,  calmly.  "  I  am  ready  to  satisfy  you.  I  am 
much  stronger  than  you,  but  you  are  doubtless  compan- 
ion in  some  order,  and  understand  single-stick.  And, 
besides,  they  say  that  you  Parisians  all  know  the  use  of 
the  quarter-staff  as  well  as  professors.  Now  we  know 
nothing  of  the  theory,  we  have  only  the  practice.  You 
are  probably  more  skilful  than  I  —  as  for  me,  I  shall  hit 
harder  than  you  —  that  will  make  the  match  even.  We 
will  go  behind  the  old  rampart,  if  you  like,  or  better,  to 
Father  Robichon's  cafe.  He  has  a  little  court  where  we 
can  come  to  a  good  understanding  without  interruption, 
for  he  knows  too  much  to  call  the  police." 

"Come,"  said  Lemor,  to  himself,  "I  have  chosen  to 

be  a  workman,  and  the  laws  of  honor  are  as  strict  with 

the  stick  as  with  the  sword.     I  do  not  know  the  savage 

art  of  killing  a  fellow-creature  any  better  with  one  weapou 

9 


130  THE  MILLER    OF  ANGIBAULT. 

than  with  another.  But  if  this  Gallic  Hercules  desires 
the  pleasure  of  mauling  me,  I  will  not  avoid  it  by  talk- 
ing sense  to  him.  Besides,  it  is  the  only  way  to  get  rid 
of  his  questions,  and  I  do  not  see  why  I  should  be  more 
patient  than  a  gentleman." 

The  generous  and  pacific  miller  had  no  desire  to  fix 
a  quarrel  upon  Henri,  as  the  latter  supposed,  from  noi 
understanding  his  real  interest  in  Mme.  de  Blanchemont, 
and  consequently  in  himself ;  it  was  simply  the  distrust 
mingled  with  this  last  sentiment,  from  whicli  Grand- 
Louis  wished  to  free  his  mind  by  an  open  explanation. 
Not  succeeding,  he  thought  himself  provoked  in  his  turn, 
and,  on  their  way  to  the  Cafe  Robichon,  each  of  the  ad- 
versaries was  persuaded  that  he  was  forced  to  comply 
with  the  belligerent  temper  of  the  other. 

The  clock  of  a  neighboring  steeple  struck  six  as  they 
came  to  the  cafe.  It  was  a  small  house,  adorned  with 
the  pompous  title  "  Cafe  de  la  Renaissance,"  now  seen  upon 
every  little  provincial  cabaret.  They  entered  through  a 
narrow  alley,  bordered  with  young  acacias  and  superb 
dahlias.  The  little  court  of  explanations  was  beneath  the 
wall  of  a  Gothic  church,  covered  in  this  place  with  ivy 
and  climbing  roses.  Arbors  of  honeysuckle  and  clematis 
protected  it  from  intrusive  eyes,  and  perfumed  the  morn- 
ing air.  This  flowery  nook,  now  solitary  and  neatly 
sanded,  seemed  intended  rather  for  a  lover's  trysting- 
place  than  for  scenes  of  a  tragic  nature. 

Grand-Louis  ushered  Lemor  in,  closed  the  gate  behind 
him,  and  then,  seating  himself  at  a  small  green  wooden 
table  — 

"So,  then  !  "  said  he,  "  are  we  here  to  deal  each  other 
blows,  or  to  take  a  cup  of  coffee  together  ?  " 

"  Just  as  you  please,"  replied  Lemor.  "  I  will  fight 
with  you  if  you  wish  ;  but  I  will  take  no  coffee." 

"  You  are  too  proud  for  that !  plain  enough  why," 
said  Grand-Louis,  with  a  shrug.  "  When  one  receives 
letters  from  a  baroness  !  " 

"  You  are  beginning  again?  Come,  either  let  me  bo 
off*,  or  let  us  fight  at  once." 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 


13^ 


"  I  cannot  fight  with  you,"  said  the  miller.  "  You 
need  only  look  at  me,  I  think,  to  see  that  I  am  no  cow- 
ard, and  yet  I  refuse  the  match  you  offer  me.  Mme.  de 
Blanchemont  would  never  forgive  me,  and  that  would 
ruin  me  altogether." 

"What  matter  for  that?  If  you  think  Mme.  de 
Blanchemont  would  blame  you  for  being  quarrelsome, 
you  need  not  tell  her  that  you  picked  the  quarrel." 

"So!  then  it  was  I  who  picked  the  quarrel?  Who 
was  it  spoke  first  of  fighting  ?  " 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  nobody  except  yourself  has 
spoken  of  it,  but  it  is  very  little  matter.  I  accept  the 
proposal." 

"  But  who,  then,  insulted  the  other?  I  said  nothing  to 
you  but  what  was  civil,  and  you  treated  me  as  imper- 
tinent." 

"You  interpreted  my  words  and  my  thoughts  in  an 
unmannerly  fashion.     I  requested  you  to  let  me  alone." 

"  Oh !  that  is  it !  You  bid  me  hold  my  tongue ! 
And  supposing  I  will  not,  what  then  }  " 

"  I  shall  turn  my  back  upon  you,  and  if  you  take  it 
ill,  we  will  fight." 

"  This  fellow  is  obstinate  as  all  the  devils ! "  cried 
Grand-Louis,  striking  with  his  huge  fist  upon  the  little 
table,  which  was  cleft  by  the  blow. 

"  There !  Mr.  Parisian  !  you  see  what  a  heavy  hand 
that  is !  Your  pride  might  give  me  a  fancy  to  try 
whether  your  head  were  as  hard  as  that  oaken  board ; 
for  there  is  nothing  on  earth  more  insolent  than  to  say  to 
a  man,  '  I  will  not  hear  you.'  And  yet  I  ought  not.  I 
cannot  injure  a  hair  of  that  iron  head.  Hark  you !  we 
must  make  an  end  of  this.  Still,  I  wish  you  well,  and 
above  all  do  I  wish  well  to  a  certain  person  for  whom  I 
would  break  my  arms  and  legs,  and  who  has,  I  am  sure, 
a  fancy  for  interesting  herself  in  you.  We  must  under- 
stand one  another ;  I  will  ask  you  no  more  questions, 
since  it  is  lost  pains,  but  I  will  tell  you  all  that  1  have  on 
my  mind  for  and  against  you  ;  and  when  I  have  done,  if 
you  are  not  suited,  we  will  fight ;  and  if  what  I  suspect 
of  you  is  true,  I  should  not  be  sorry  to  break  your  jaw. 


132  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT, 

Come,  it  is  best  to  make  matters  clear  before  trying 
strength,  and  know  why  one  does  it !  Wo  will  have 
coffee,  for  I  am  fasting  since  yesterday,  and  my  stomach 
cries  for  mercy.  If  you  are  too  great  a  lord  to  let  me 
pay  the  scot,  let  us  agree  that  the  least  maimed  of  the 
two  shall  settle  it  after  all  is  over." 

*'  Agreed  !  "  said  Henri,  who,  considering  himself  on 
hostile  terms  with  the  miller,  thought  there  could  be  no 
risk  of  forgetting  himself  with  him  through  friendliness. 

Father  Robichon  himself  brought  the  coffee,  testifying 
all  manner  of  kindness  towards  Grand-Louis.  "  Is  he 
one  of  thy  friends?  "  said  he,  looking  at  Lemor  with  the 
curiosity  always  felt  by  tradespeople  in  small  towns,  who 
have  not  much  to  do.  "I  do  not  know  him,  but  it  is 
all  the  same  ;  he  must  be  good  for  something,  since  thou 
bringest  him  to  me.  Look  you,  my  boy,"  added  he,  ad- 
dressing Lemor,  "  you  have  made  a  good  acquaintance 
on  coming  our  way.  You  could  not  have  'had  better 
luck.  Grand-Louis  is  esteemed  by  each  and  all.  I  now — 
I  love  him  like  a  son.  Oh,  he  is  so  wise,  good,  and  gen- 
tle—  gentle  as  a  lamb,  though  he  is  the  strongest  man  in 
the  country  —  but  I  can  truly  say  that  never,  no,  never, 
has  he  made  any  disturbance.  He  would  not  give  a  cuff 
to  a  child,  and  I  never  heard  him  raise  his  voice  in  my 
house.  God  knows  that  there  are  often  quarrelsome 
people  here,  but  he  always  brings  peace  with  him." 

This  eulogium,  so  oddly  timed  at  the  moment  when 
Grand-Louis  had  brought  a  stranger  to  the  Cafe  Robichon 
to  try  a  quarrel  with  him,  made  both  the  young  men 
smile. 


THE  MILLER    OF  ANGIBAULT.  133 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

THE    FORD    OF   THE   VAUVRE. 

npHE  panegyric  appeared,  nevertheless,  so  sincere,  that 
•*-  Lemor,  already  disposed  to  great  sympathy  for  the 
miller,  and  reflecting  on  the  singularity  of  his  conduct  in 
this  instance,  began  to  consider  that  this  man  must  have 
powerful  motives  for  questioning  him.  They  took  coffee 
together  with  much  mutual  politeness,  and  when  Father 
Robichon  had  left  them  to  themselves,  the  miller  began 
thus : 

"  Sir  (I  must  call  you  so  since  I  do  not  know  whether 
we  are  friends  or  foes),  you  must  know  in  the  first  place 
that  I  am  in  love,  by  your  good  pleasure,  with  a  girl  too 
rich  for  me,  and  who  loves  me  only  just  enough  not  to 
detest  me.  Thus  I  can  speak  of  her  without  compro- 
mising her ;  and  besides,  you  do  not  know  her.  I  do 
not  like,  however,  to  talk  of  my  love,  it  is  tiresome  for 
others,  especially  when  they  have  been  stung  by  the  same 
fly,  and  are,  as  is  customary  in  this  malady,  devilish 
egotists,  caring  everything  for  themselves  and  nothing 
for  their  neighbors.  Nevertheless,  as  one  gains  nothing 
by  working  all  alone  to  remove  a  mountain,  I  am  of 
opinion  that  by  a  little  mutual  friendly  assistance  some- 
thing at  least  might  be  done,  and  this  is  why  I  desired 
your  confidence,  since  I  have  that  of  the  lady  whom  you 
well  know,  and  why  I  give  you  mine  without  any  particu- 
lar certainty  of  its  being  well  placed. 

"  Well,  then,  the  girl  I  love  will  have  for  her  dowry 
30,000  francs  more  than  I,  and,  as  times  are,  I  might  as 
well  think  of  marrying  the  Empress  of  China.  I  do  not 
care  a  snap  for  her  30,000  francs  ;  indeed  I  may  say 
that  I  wish  them  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  since  it  is  they 


134  ^^^^  MILLER    OF  ANGIBATTLT. 

who  separate  us.  But  love  never  yet  listened  to  hin« 
(lerances ;  although  I  am  penniless,  I  am  in  love ;  I 
can  think  of  nothing  else  ;  and  if  the  lady,  whom  you  well 
know,  does  not  come  to  my  relief,  as  she  has  given  me 
to  hope,  I  am  a  lost  man  —  I  may  —  I  don't  know  what 
I  may  not  do  !  " 

While  speaking  thus,  there  came  so  dark  a  change  over 
the  miller's  usually  jovial  face,  that  Lemor  was  struck  by 
the  strength  and  sincerity  of  his  passion. 

"  Well,  then,'*  said  he  to  him,  cordially,  "  since  you 
have  the  protection  of  so  good  and  intelligent  a  lady — 
she  is  called  so  at  least !  —  " 

" I  do  not  know  what  she  is  called"  retorted  Grand- 
Louis,  out  of  patience  with  the  young  man's  obstinate  re- 
serve ;  "  I  know  what  I  myself  think,  and  I  tell  you  that 
this  woman  is  an  angel  of  heaven.  The  worse  for  you, 
if  you  do  not  know  it !  " 

"  In  that  case,"  said  Lemor,  unable  to  resist  the  sin- 
cerity of  this  homage  to  Marcelle,  "  what  are  you  aiming 
at,  my  dear  M.  Grand-Louis  ?  " 

"  I  wish  to  tell  you,  that  seeing  this  good,  noble,  and 
pure-hearted  woman  disposed  kindly  towards  me,  and  al- 
ready beginning  to  give  me  hope  when  I  thought  all  lost, 
I  am  attached  to  her  at  once  and  forever.  Friendship 
came  to  me,  as  they  say  in  romances  that  love  comes,  in 
a  flash,  and  now  I  want  to  return  beforehand  all  the 
good  that  this  woman  intends  to  do  me.  I  want  her  to 
be  happy  as  she  deserves,  happy  in  her  affections,  since 
she  cares  for  nothing  else  in  the  world,  and  despises  for- 
tune, happy  in  the  love  of  a  man  wlio  shall  love  her  for 
herself,  and  not  be  busy  in  calculating  what  remains  of 
the  wealth  she  loses  so  joyously  —  only  thinking  how 
to  find  out  what  she  does  or  does  not  possess  —  that  he 
may  know  whether  to  rejoin  her,  or  take  himself  far 
away  from  her  —  forget  her,  doubtless — and  try  if  his 
pretty  face  can  make  another  more  lucrative  conquest  — 
for—" 

Lemor  interrupted  the  miller. 

"What  reason  have  you,"  said  he,  turning  pale,  '*  to 
fear  that  this  worthy  lady  has  so  misplaced  her  afFec- 


THE  MILLER   OF  AJSrOrBAirLT.  135 

tions?  Who  is  the  villain  to  v/hom  you  impute  such 
dastardly  conduct  ?  " 

"  I  know  nothing  about  it,"  said  the  miller,  attentively 
observant  of  Henri's  agitation,  and  not  yet  certain 
whether  to  attribute  it  to  the  indignation  of  conscious 
rectitude  or  the  shame  of  detection.  ''All  that  I  know 
is  that  there  came  to  my  mill,  some  fortnight  since,  a 
young  man  of  very  honest  face  and  manners,  who  seemed 
to  have  some  weight  upon  his  mind,  and,  all  at  once,  be- 
gan to  talk  of  money,  to  ask  questions,  take  notes,  and 
at  last  to  assure  himself  in  francs  and  centimes,  on  a  bit 
of  paper,  that  a  pretty  slice  of  her  fortune  was  still  left 
to  the  lady  of  Blanchemont." 

"  The  truth  is,  you  think  this  fellow  was  ready  to  de- 
clare his  love  only  in  case  the  marriage  appeared  advan- 
tageous to  him  ?  Then  he  was  a  scoundrel ;  but  to  have 
guessed  so  well,  one's  self  need  be  —  " 

"  Go  on,  Parisian  !  Don't  pick  your  words,"  said  the 
miller,  whose  eyes  flashed  like  lightning.  "We  are  here 
to  understand  one  another  !  " 

"  I  say,"  repeated  Lemor,  not  less  provoked,  "  that 
when  a  man  makes  such  interpretation  of  the  conduct  of 
another  with  whom  he  is  not  acquainted,  and  of  whom 
he  knows  nothing,  he  must  be  himself  much  in  love  with 
his  mistress's  dowry." 

The  miller's  eyes  faded,  and  a  cloud  passed  over  his 
brow. 

"Ah!"  said  he,  in  a  mournful  tone,  "I  know  that 
might  be  said,  and  I  warrant  that  many  people  would  say 
so,  if  I  succeeded  in  making  myself  beloved !  But  only 
let  her  father  disinherit  her,  which  would  certainly  hap- 
pen if  she  were  to  love  me,  and  then  they  should  see  if  I 
would  count  up  what  she  had  lost  on  my  fingers  !  " 

"  Miller  !  "  said  Lemor,  in  a  frank  and  hasty  tone,  "  I 
do  not  accuse  you.  I  do  not  wish  to  suspect  you.  But 
how  is  it,  that  with  an  honest  soul,  you  have  not  sup- 
posed what  is  most  likely  and  most  worthy  of  you  ?  " 

"  The  young  man's  feeling  would  be  shown  by  his  sub- 
sequent actions.  If  he  rushed  with  transport  to  his  deat 
lady  1  —  I  say  nothing  ;  but  if  he  takes  himself  to  the  devils 
that  is  another  affair  !  " 


,36  THE  MILLER    OF  ANGIBAULT. 

"It  should  be  presumed,"  answered  Lcmor,  "  that  he 
looked  upon  his  love  as  madness,  and  did  not  wish  to  ex- 
pose himself  to  a  refusal." 

*'  Ah  !  there  you  are  !  "  cried  the  miller.  *'  Here  come 
the  lies  again !  I  know  positively  that  the  lady  is  re- 
joiced to  have  lost  her  fortune,  that  she  has  also  taken 
bravely  her  share  in  her  son's  total  ruin,  and  all  because 
she  loves  some  one,  whom,  without  all  these  catastrophes, 
it  might  have  been  called  a  crime  in  her  to  marry." 

"  Her  son  is  ruined?  "  said  Lemor,  starting  ;  *'  totally 
ruined  ?     Is  it  possible  ?     Are  you  sure  of  it  ?  " 

"  Perfectly  sure,  my  boy !  "  replied  the  miller,  in  a 
jeering  manner.  "The  administratrix,  who,  during  a 
long  minority,  might  have  shared  the  interest  of  a  large 
capital  with  a  lover  or  husband,  will  have  nothing  but 
debts  to  pay,  so  that  her  intention,  as  she  told  me  last 
night,  is  to  have  her  boy  learn  some  trade  for  a  living." 

Henri  had  left  his  seat,  and  was  pacing  the  little  court 
with  agitated  steps,  and  the  expression  of  his  face  was 
indefinable.  Grand-Louis,  who  did  not  take  his  eyes  off 
him,  questioned  with  himself  whether  he  was  at  the 
height  of  joy  or  disappointment.  "  We  will  see,"  thought 
he,  "  whether  he  is  a  man,  like  lier  and  like  me,  hating 
the  riches  which  thwart  love,  or  an  adventurer  who  has 
woa  her  love  by  some  inconceivable  craft,  and  whose  am- 
bition looks  higher  than  the  enjoyment  of  the  little  rev- 
enue which  is  left  to  her." 

After  a  few  moments*  thought,  Grand-Louis,  who  had 
set  his  heart  on  giving  Marcelle  a  great  pleasure,  or  rid- 
ding her  of  a  deceiver  by  unmasking  him,  imagined  a 
strategem. 

"  Come,  my  boy  !  "  said  he,  in  a  milder  voice,  "  you 
are  vexed  !  There  is  no  harm  in  that.  Everybody  is  not 
romantic,  and  if  you  were  thinking  of  the  cash,  yoa  were 
only  like  all  the  people  nowadays.  You  see  now  that  I 
have  not  done  you  an  ill  turn  by  quarrelling  with  you ; 
you  have  learned  that  the  jointure  has  run  dry.  You 
doubtless  reckoned  on  the  profits  of  the  young  heir's 
minority,  for  you  were  aware  that  the  famous  three  hun- 
dred thousand  francs  was  a  last,  a  sheer  illusion  of  the 
widow's  ?  " 


THE  MILLER    OF  ANGIBAULT. 


37 


*'  AVhat  do  you  say?  "  cried  Lemor,  pausing  in  his  hur- 
ried walk  ;  "is  this  last  resource  taken  from  her?" 

"  To  be  sure  !  don't  pretend  not  to  know  it ;  you  took 
your  information  too  carefully  not  to  know  that  Farmer 
Bricolin's  debt  is  quadruple  what  was  supposed,  and  that 
the  lady  of  Blanchemont  will  have  to  sue  for  a  tobacco  * 
or  post-office,  to  have  the  means  of  sending  her  son  to 
school.*' 

"Is  it  possible?"  repeated  Lemor,  confounded  and  al- 
most stupefied  by  this  news.  "  So  sudden  a  change  in  her 
destiny  !     A  stroke  from  heaven  !  " 

"  Yes,  a  thunder-stroke  !  "  said  the  miller,  with  a  bitter 
laugh. 

"  Oh  !  tell  me,  is  she  not  at  all  affected  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  not  in  the  least.  So  far  from  it,  on  the  con- 
trary, she  fancies  that  you  will  only  love  her  the  better. 
But  you  —  not  such  a  fool,  are  you  ?  " 

"My  dear  friend,"  replied  Lemor,  without  hearing  a 
word,  "  what  have  you  told  me?  And  I,  who  wanted  to 
fight  with  you  —  you  have  done  me  a  great  service ! 
When  I  was  about — you  are  sent  to  me  by  Providence  !  " 

Grand-Louis,  attributing  this  effusion  to  Lemor*s  satis- 
faction in  being  warned  in  time  of  the  ruin  of  his  merce- 
nary hopes,  turned  away  his  head  in  disgust,  and  remained 
for  some  instants  absorbed  in  deep  melancholy. 

"  To  see  so  confiding  and  disinterested  a  woman,"  said 
he  to  himself,  "  cozened  by  such  a  puppy !  She  must 
have  as  little  judgment  as  he  has  heart.  I  ought  to  have 
thought,  indeed,  that  she  was  very  imprudent,  when  in  a 
single  day,  the  first  time  I  ever  saw  her,  she  let  me  dis- 
cover all  her  secrets.  She  is  ready  to  yield  her  good 
heart  to  the  first  comer.  Oh !  I  must  scold  her,  warn 
her,  put  her  on  her  guard  against  herself  in  everything ! 
And  to  begin,  I  must  rid  her  of  this  rogue.  One  might 
tear  the  rascal's  ear  a  little,  or  give  him  a  mark  on  his 
fine  viznomy^  that  should  hinder  him  from  showing  him- 
self so  soon  among  the  ladies  —  Hallo  !  Mr.  Parisian  !  " 
said  he,  without  turning  round,  and  endeavoring  to  make 

*  Tobacco,  in  France,  is  a  government  monopoly.  —  Tr. 


138  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 

liis  voice  calm  and  clear  ;  "  you  have  heard  me,  and  now 
you  know  how  much  I  think  of  you.  I  know  what  I 
wished  to  know  —  you  are  nothing  but  a  scoundrel.  That 
-IS  my  opinion,  and  I  will  prove  it  to  you  immediately,  if 
fou  will  please  to  permit  it." 

While  speaking,  the  miller  had  phlegmatically  turned 
jp  his  sleeves,  intending  to  use  only  his  fists,  and  he  now 
rose  and  turned,  surprised  at  his  adversary's  delay  in  an- 
swering. But  to  his  great  astonishment,  he  found  him- 
self alone  in  the  court.  He  ran  through  the  dahlia  alley, 
hunted  in  all  the  corners  of  the  Cafe  Robichon,  surveyed 
all  the  neighboring  streets  ;  Lemor  had  disappeared.  No 
one  had  seen  him  go  out.  Indignant  and  almost  furious, 
Grand-Louis  sought  for  him  vainly  all  through  the  town. 

After  an  hour  of  useless  investigation,  the  miller  was 
out  of  breath,  and  began  to  be  tired  and  discouraged. 

"It  is  all  the  same,"  said  he  to  himself,  sitting  down 
upon  a  stone  ;  "  there  shall  not  a  diligence  or  a  patache 
leave  the  town  this  day,  but  I  will  count  the  passengers, 
and  look  every  one  of  them  in  the  face.  This  gentleman 
shall  not  go  off  without  —  but  pshaw  !  I  am  mad  !  Is 
he  not  on  foot,  and  does  not  a  man  who  shirks  paying  a 
debt  of  honor  take  to  the  fields  without  drum  or  trumpet? 
And  then,"  added  he,  growing  calmer  by  degrees,  "  my 
dear  Madame  Marcelle  would  doubtless  be  angry  with 
me  for  thrashing  her  gallant.  That  is  no  way  to  cure  so 
strong  an  attachment ;  and  perhaps  the  poor  woman  will 
not  believe  me  when  I  tell  her  that  her  Parisian  is  a  true 
Marchois.*  How  can  I  undeceive  her  ?  It  is  my  duty ; 
and  yet,  when  I  think  of  the  pain  I  shall  give  her —  Dear 
lady  of  the  good  God  !  Is  it  possible  one  can  be  so  de- 
luded?" 

While  thus  talking  with  himself,  the  miller  remembered 
that  he  had  a  carriage  to  sell,  and  went  to  a  wealthy  ex- 
farmer,  who,  after  long  examination  and  cheapening,  was 
finally  decided  by  his  fear  lest  M.  Bricolin  should  seize 


♦  The  natives  of  La  Marche  are,  with  or  without  reason,  in 
such  bad  odor  with  their  neighbors  of  Berri,  that  Marchois  is 
synonymous  with  cheat. 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT.  139 

upon  a  thing  which  was  at  once  an  article  of  luxury  and 
a  good  bargain.  "  Buy  it,  M.  Ravelard,"  said  Grand- 
Louis,  with  the  admirable  patience  which  belongs  to  the 
Berrichons,  when,  perfectly  understanding  that  their  terms 
are  to  be  accepted,  they  politely  feign  to  be  duped  by  the 
assumed  uncertainty  of  the  purchaser.  "  I  have  told  you 
two  hundred  times  already,  and  I  will  repeat  it  as  often 
as  you  wish,  it  is  good  and  handsome,  fine  and  substan- 
tial. It  came  from  the  first  establishment  in  Paris,  and 
you  get  it  free  of  freight.  You  know  me  too  well  to  think 
I  would  be  concerned  in  the  business  if  there  were  any 
trap  under  it.  Besides,  I  ask  no  commission  of  you, 
which  you  would  have  to  pay  to  anybody  else.  See  !  it 
is  clear  profit !  " 

The  buyer's  irresolutions  lasted  till  evening.  It  tore 
his  soul  to  pay  down  the  crowns.  When  Grand-Louis 
saw  the  sun  setting  — 

"  Come,"  said  he,  "  I  do  not  want  to  sleep  here,  and  I 
am  ofiT.  I  see  that  you  will  not  have  this  pretty  shining 
Avagon,  as  cheap  as  it  is.  I  shall  harness  Sophie  to 
it,  and  go  back  to  Blanchemont  as  proud  as  Pompey.  It 
will  be  the  first  time  in  my  life  that  I  drive  a  carriage  ; 
that  will  divert  me,  and  I  shall  be  yet  more  diverted  to 
see  Father  and  Mother  Bricolin  strut  into  it  to  go  to  La 
Chatre  of  a  Sunday!  I  still  think  that  you  and  your 
wife  would  cut  a  finer  figure  in  it." 

At  length,  as  the  night  came  on,  M.  Ravelard  counted 
out  the  money,  and  had  the  fine  carriage  put  under  his 
coach-house.  Grand-Louis  loaded  his  cart  with  Mme. 
de  Blanchemont's  effects,  put  the  two  thousand  francs  in  a 
leathern  girdle,  and  started  with  Sophie  at  full  trot,  sitting 
on  a  trunk,  and  singing  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  notwith- 
standing the  jolts  and  the  rumbling  of  his  great  wheels 
over  the  pavement. 

He  drove  quickly,  with  no  risk  of  losing  his  way,  like 
the  patachon,  and  the  moon  had  not  yet  risen  when  he 
passed  the  pretty  village  of  Mers.  The  chilling  mist, 
that  even  in  the  warmest  summer  nights  floats  over  the 
numerous  embanked  streams  of  the  Black  Valley,  lay  in 
white  sheets,  that  might  have  been  mistaken  for  lakes. 


140  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 

over  the  low  places  in  the  vast  and  gloomy  extent  of  coim- 
try  opening  before  him.  The  harvesters'  cries  and  the 
shepherds'  song  had  already  ceased,  and  soon  the  glow- 
worms, gleaming  here  and  there  on  the  roadside,  were 
the  only  living  creatures  on  the  miller's  way. 

Nevertheless,  while  crossing  one  of  the  marshy  tracts 
made  by  the  windings  of  rivers  in  a  country  otherwise  so 
fertile  and  so  scrupulously  cultivated,  he  thought  he  saw 
a  dim  figure  running  through  the  reeds  before  him,  whicjh 
stopped  at  the  edge  of  the  ford  as  if  to  wait  for  him. 

Grand-Louis  was  not  much  subject  to  fear.  However, 
as  he  had  on  this  occasion  to  defend  a  little  property,  of 
which  he  was  more  careful  than  if  it  had  been  his  own, 
he  hastened  to  rejoin  his  cart,  for  he  had  come  part  of  the 
way  on  foot,  as  much  to  stretch  his  limbs  as  to  ease  his 
faithful  Sophie.  Finding  the  leathern  girdle  inconven- 
ient, he  had  put  it  in  a  sack  of  corn.  When  he  had  re- 
mounted his  car,  which  he  facetiously  called,  after  the 
country  fashion,  his  equipage  hung  on  wagon-leather, 
that  is,  on  plain  wood,  he  took  a  firm  stand  on  his  legs, 
armed  himself  with  his  whip,  whose  heavy  handle  ren- 
dered it  a  weapon  of  double  action,  and  upright  as  a 
soldier  on  duty  he  drove  straight  up  to  the  night-travel- 
ler, gayly  chanting  a  stanza  from  an  old  comic  opera, 
which  Rose  had  taught  him  in  his  childhood : 

*•  Our  miller's  purse  is  full  of  gold, 

And  now  for  home  he  gayly  pushes, 
When  on  the  way  he  hears,  I'm  told, 

A  monstrous  rustling  in  the  bushes. 
Our  miller  is  a  sturdy  fellow, 
But  then,  they  say,  he  turned  quite  yellow. 
So,  friends,  beware, 
Take  mickle  care, 
Through  the  Black  Valley  never  wander.** 

I  believe  that  the  song  has  it  "  the  Black  Forest"  ;  but 
Grand-Louis,  who  mocked  at  poetic  rule  as  much  as  at 
ghosts  and  robbers,  amused  himself  with  adapting  the 
words  to  his  own  situation,  and  this  simple  stanza,  for- 
merly much  in  vogue,  but  now  sung  only  at  the  mill  of 
Angibault,  often  beguiled  the  tedium  of  his  solitary  rides. 


THE  MILLER    OF  ANGIBAULT.  141 

When  he  was  near  the  man,  who  firmly  awaited  him, 
he  saw  that  the  post  was  well  chosen  for  an  attack.  The 
ford  was  not,  indeed,  deep,  but  encumbered  with  large 
stones,  which  obliged  a  horse  to  walk  carefully  ;  and  be- 
sides, the  descent  into  the  water  was  so  steep  as  to  make 
it  necessary  to  hold  in  the  reins  lest  the  animal  should 
fall. 

*'  We  shall  see,"  said  Grand-Louis  to  himself,  with 
great  composure  and  prudence. 


143 


TUB  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

HENRI. 

npiIE  wayfarer  did  in  fact  advance  to  the  horse's  head, 
-^  and  Grand-Louis,  who,  during  his  roundelay,  had 
dexterously  fastened  to  his  whip-lash  a  ball  of  lead 
pierced  for  the  purpose,  had  already  raised  his  arm  to 
make  him  let  go,  when  a  voice  that  he  knew  said  ami- 
cably : 

"  Master  Louis,  permit  me  to  cross  the  water  in  your 
vehicle." 

"  Oh  ho !  my  dear  Parisian ! "  replied  the  miller ; 
"  delighted  to  see  you.  I  hunted  for  you  long  enough 
this  morning!     Up,   up, —  I  have  two  words  to  say  to 

you." 

"  And  as  for  me,  I  have  more  than  two  to  ask  of  you," 
answered  Henri  Lemor,  springing  into  the  cart,  and 
taking  a  seat  on  the  trunk  beside  him,  with  the  confidence 
of  a  man  who  expects  nothing  disagreeable. 

"  This  is  a  bold  dog,"  thought  the  miller,  who,  in  the 
first  return  of  his  rancor,  could  hardly  restrain  himself 
till  they  should  reach  the  other  bank.  "  Do  you  know, 
comrade,"  said  he,  laying  his  heavy  hand  upon  the  other's 
shoulder,  "  that  I  do  not  know  what  keeps  me  from  turn- 
ing about  to  the  right,  and  giving  you  a  ducking  under 
the  sluice  there  ?  " 

"  It  is  an  amusing  idea,"  answered  Lemor,  quietly, 
"and  practicable  to  a  certain  degree.  Still,  my  dear 
friend,  I  think  I  should  make  a  stout  defence,  for  to-night 
is  the  first  time  for  a  long  while  that  I  hold  to  my  life 
tenaciously." 

*'  Now  !  "  said  the  miller,  as  he  drew  up  on  the  sand 
at  the  other  side  of  the  stream.     "  We  can  talk  better 


THE  MILLER    OF  ANGIBAULT, 


H3 


here.  First  and  foremost,  do  me  the  kindness,  my  dear 
sir,  to  tell  me  where  you  are  going?" 

"  I  do  not  know  myself,"  said  Lemor,  laughing.  "I 
believe  I  shall  follow  where  chance  leads.  Is  it  not  a 
fine  evening  for  a  walk  ?  " 

"  Not  so  fine  as  you  think,  my  master,  and  you  may 
go  back  in  worse  weather,  if  such  be  my  good  pleasure. 
You  chose  to  come  into  my  cart.  It  is  my  travelling 
fortress,  and  people  do  not  always  get  out  as  they  got 
in." 

"A  truce  to  repartee,  Grand-Louis,"  returned  Lemor^ 
"  and  whip  up  your  horse.  I  can  laugh  no  more,  I  feel 
too  much  —  " 

"  Confess  the  truth,  you  are  afraid." 

"  Yes,  dreadfully  afraid,  like  the  miller  in  your  song, 
and  you  will  understand  when  I  tell  you  —  if  I  can  speak 
—  I  have  scarcely  my  senses." 

"  In  short,  where  are  you  going?  "  said  the  miller,  who 
began  to  fear  he  had  misjudged  Lemor,  and  recovering 
his  reason,  which  had  been  lost  in  his  anger,  asked  him- 
self whether  a  guilty  man  would  thus  voluntarily  place 
himself  again  in  his  power. 

*'  Where  are  you  going  yourself?"  said  Lemor.  "  To 
Angibault,  near  Blanchemont?  I,  too,  go  in  that  direc- 
tion, without  knowing  whether  I  shall  dare  to  go  quite 
there.  But  you  have  heard  of  the  loadstone  which  at- 
tracts the  iron  ?  " 

*'  I  do  not  know  whether  you  are  made  of  iron,"  re- 
turned the  miller,  "  but  I  know  there  is  a  famous  load- 
stone that  way  for  me  also.  Come,  my  boy,  you  would 
wish — " 

"  I  wish  nothing,  I  dare  not  wish  anything !  and  yet 
she  is  ruined,  entirely  ruined?     Why  should  I  go  away?" 

"  What  could  make  you  want  to  go  so  far,  to  Africa, 
to  the  devil?" 

"  I  believed  her  still  rich  ;  as  I  told  you,  compared 
to  my  situation,  300,000  francs  was  opulence." 

"  But  since  she  loved  you,  notwithstanding?  " 

"And  do  you  imagine  that  I  could  have  accepted 
money  with   love?     I  can  feign   no   longer   with  you. 


144  ^^^  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 

friend.  I  see  that  tilings  have  been  confided  to  you 
which  I  wouhl  not  have  avowed,  had  we  come  to  blows 
upon  it.  But  I  reflected,  after  heaving  you  so  abruptly, 
when  I  scarce  knew  what  I  was  doing,  and  felt  my  heart 
so  big  with  joy  that  I  could  not  have  held  my  tongue  — 
yes,  I  reflected  on  all  that  you  had  said,  and  saw  that 
you  knew  all,  and  that  it  was  absurd  in  me  to  fear  indis- 
cretion from  so  devoted  a  friend  to — " 

"  Marcelle !  "  said  the  miller,  with  a  little  vanity  at 
being  able  familiarly  to  pronounce  this  Christian  name, 
as  in  his  mind  he  defined  it,  in  opposition  to  the  aristo- 
cratic title  of  the  lady  of  Blancheraont. 

Lemor  thrilled  at  this  name.  It  sounded  in  his  ear  for 
the  first  time.  As  he  had  never  had  any  connection 
with  those  who  surrounded  Mme.  de  Blanchemont,  and 
never  confided  the  secret  of  his  love  to  any  one,  he  knew 
not  from  other  lips  the  sound  of  this  cherished  name, 
which  he  had  read  with  such  reverence  at  the  end  of 
many  a  note,  and  never  himself  dared  to  pronounce  but 
in  moments  of  despair  or  rapture.  He  seized  the  miller's 
arm,  divided  between  the  desire  to  make  him  repeat  it, 
and  the  fear  of  profaning  it  by  giving  it  to  the  solitary 
echoes. 

"  Well,  then,'*  said  Grand-Louis,  touched  by  his  emo- 
tion, "  you  have  at  last  found  out  that  you  neither  should 
nor  could  distrust  me  ?  But  would  you  have  me  tell  you 
the  truth?  I  still  distrust  you  a  little.  It  is  in  spite  of 
myself,  but  the  idea  pursues  me,  quits  me,  and  again 
seizes  me.  Let  us  see,  —  where  have  you  been  all  day  ? 
I  thought  you  were  hid  in  a  cellar  !  *' 

"  I  should  have  been,  I  believe,  if  I  had  found  one 
convenient,"  said  Lemor,  with  a  smile,  "I  so  much 
needed  to  hide  my  distress  and  my  rapture.  Do  you 
know,  my  friend,  that  I  was  going  to  Africa,  intending 
never  again  to  see  —  her  whom  you  have  just  named? 
Yes,  notwithstanding  the  note  you  brought  me,  which 
commanded  me  to  return  in  one  year,  I  felt  that  my  con- 
science exacted  a  dreadful  sacrifice.  And  even  to-day  I 
was  filled  with  fear  and  uncertainty  ;  for  if  I,  a  working- 
man,  have  no  longer  to  combat  the  shame  of  marrying  a 


THE  MILLER    OF  ANGIBAULT. 


H5 


rich  woman,  still  there  remains  the  enmity  of  race,  the 
struggle  of  the  plebeian  against  the  patricians,  who  will 
persecute  this  noble  woman  for  a  choice  they  will  deem 
unworthy.  Yet  there  may  be  cowardice  in  avoiding  this 
crisis.  It  is  not  her  fault  that  she  is  of  the  blood  of  the  op- 
pressors, and  then,  too,  the  power  of  the  nobility  has  passed 
into  other  hands.  Their  opinion  has  lost  its  force,  and 
perhaps  she  —  who  deigns  to  prefer  me  —  will  not  meet 
universal  blame.  Still,  is  it  not  terrible  to  involve  the 
woman  one  loves  in  a  contest  with  her  family,  and  to 
draw  upon  her  the  blame  of  all  those  with  whom  she 
has  always  lived !  These  attachments  are  secondary, 
it  is  true,  but  numerous  and  dear.  A  generous  heart 
cannot  break  from  them  without  regret,  and  by  what 
other  affections  shall  I  replace  them?  For  I  am  isolated 
upon  the  earth,  as  the  poor  always  are,  and  the  people  do 
not  yet  understand  how  to  greet  those  who  come  to  them 
from  such  a  distance,  and  through  so  many  obstacles. 
Alas  !  I  spent  part  of  the  day  under  a  hedge,  I  know 
not  where,  in  a  retired  place  where  I  chanced  to  be,  and 
it  was  only  after  hours  of  anguish  and  earnest  thought 
that  I  determined  to  seek  you,  and  ask  you  to  procure 
me  an  hour's  interview  with  her.  I  sought  you  in  vain, 
and  perhaps  you,  too,  were  looking  for  me,  for  it  was  you 
who  filled  my  brain  with  this  burning  idea  of  going  to 
Blanchemont.  But  I  believe  that  you  are  imprudent  and 
I  mad,  for  she  forbid  my  knowing  even  where  she  had 
retired,  and  she  fixed,  for  the  propriety  of  her  mourning, 
the  delay  of  a  year." 

"  Is  it  so  indeed?  "  said  Grand-Louis,  somewhat  fright- 
ened at  having  aroused  in  Marcelle's  lover  the  idea  of 
going  to  see  her,  by  the  suggestion  he  had  thought  so  in- 
genious in  the  morning.  "  Are  these  notions  of  propriety 
of  which  you  speak  so  serious  in  your  mind,  and  is  it  nec- 
essary that  a  year,  neither  more  nor  less,  should  pass 
after  the  death  of  a  wicked  husband,  before  an  honest 
woman  can  see  the  face  of  an  honest  man  who  intends 
to  marry  her  ?     Is  that  the  custom  at  Paris  ?  " 

"  Not  more  at  Paris  than  elsewhere.  The  religious  feel- 
ing belonging  to  the  mystery  of  death  is  everywhere, 

lo 


146  THE  MILLER    OF  ANGIBAULT, 

doubtless,  the  nearest  arbiter  of  the  greater  or  less  time 
granted  to  the  remembrance  of  the  funeral  rites." 

"  I  know  that  it  is  a  right  feeling  which  has  established 
the  custom  of  testifying  mourning  in  dress,  habits,  and 
general  conduct ;  but  is  there  not  danger  of  its  degener- 
ating into  hypocrisy,  when  there  is  really  little  to  regret 
in  the  deceased,  and  when  love  speaks  plainly  in  favor  of 
another  ?  Is  it  necessary  to  the  decent  demeanor  of  a 
widow  that  her  suitor  should  expatriate  himself,  and 
never  pass  her  door,  or  even  glance  at  her  when  she  does 
not  appear  to  see  ?  " 

"  You  do  not  know,  my  dear  fellow,  the  malignity  of 
those  who  call  themselves  people  of  the  world.  It  is  a 
singular  denomination,  and  yet  just  in  their  eyes,  since 
they  count  the  people  as  nothing,  and  arrogate  the  em- 
pire of  the  world,  which  they  have  always  had,  and  have 
still  —  for  a  time  !  " 

"  It  is  not  hard  for  me  to  credit,"  cried  the  miller, 
"  that  they  are  more  wicked  than  we !  And  yet,"  he 
added  mournfully,  "  we  are  not  as  good  as  we  should  be  ! 
We,  too,  babble,  and  taunt,  and  condemn  the  weak.  Yes, 
you  are  right,  we  must  guard  against  evil  being  spoken 
of  this  dear  lady.  With  time  she  will  be  known,  be- 
loved, and  respected  as  she  deserves,  but  now  a  single 
day  might  bring  an  accusation  of  light  conduct  against 
her.  So  it  is  my  advice  that  you  should  not  show  your- 
self at  Blanchemont." 

"'  You  are  a  man  of  good  judgment,  Grand-Louis,  and 
I  was  sure  that  you  would  not  let  me  do  anything  wrong. 
I  will  have  the  courage  to  listen  to  your  reasonable 
opinion,  as  I  had  the  folly  to  take  fire  at  the  first  impulse 
of  your  kind  feeling.  I  will  talk  with  you  till  we  are 
near  your  mill,  and  then  I  will  return  to  *  *  *,  and 
continue  my  journey  to-morrow." 

*'  Come !  come !  you  go  from  one  extreme  to  the 
other,"  said  the  miller,  who  had  let  his  patient  Sophie 
walk,  while  talking  with  Lemor.  "  Angibault  is  a  league 
from  Blanchemont,  and  you  can  easily  pass  the  night 
there  without  compromising  any  one.  My  old  mother 
will  be  the  only  woman  you  will  find  to-night,  and  that 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT.  147 

will  make  no  gossip.  You  have  had  a  pretty  walk  from 
*  *  *  here,  and  I  should  have  neither  heart  nor  soul  if 
I  did  not  force  you  to  accept  a  bed,  with  what  the  curate, 
who  does  not  fancy  them,  calls  a  frugal  supper.  Be- 
sides, must  not  you  write  ?  You  will  find  all  that  is  nec- 
essary with  us  —  beautiful  letter-paper,  for  example  !  I 
am  clerk  of  my  district,  and  I  do  not  write  my  deeds  upon 
vellum ;  but  even  if  your  amorous  prose  should  lie  on 
government  stamped  paper,  that  will  not  hinder  it  from 
being  read,  and  perhaps  twice  rather  than  once.  Come, 
I  tell  you,  I  see  already  the  smoke  of  my  supper  rising 
among  the  trees  ;  we  will  trot  a  little,  for  I  will  warrant 
that  my  old  mother  is  hungry,  and  will  not  eat  without 
me.     I  promised  her  I  would  be  at  home  early." 

Henri  was  dying  to  accept  the  good  miller's  offer.  For 
form's  sake  he  let  himself  be  urged ;  lovers  dissemble 
like  children.  He  had  given  up  the  folly  of  going  to 
Blanchemont,  but  he  was  drawn  in  that  direction  as  by  a 
magic  charm  ;  and  each  of  Sophie's  steps  which  brought 
him  nearer  this  centre  of  attraction,  stirred  the  poor 
heart,  just  crushed  by  a  struggle  beyond  its  master's 
strength.  So  he  yielded,  secretly  blessing  the  miller's 
hospitable  urgency. 

"Mother!"  cried  the  latter  to  Grand'-Marie,  as  he 
leaped  from  his  cart,  "  have  I  broken  my  word  to  you? 
If  the  good  God's  clock  is  not  out  of  order,  the  stars  of 
the  cross  mark  ten  upon  St.  James's  Way."  * 

"That  is  all,"  said  the  good  woman  ;  "it  is  only  an 
hour  later  than  thou  expectedst.  But  I  will  not  scold 
thee.  I  see  that  thou  hast  done  our  dear  lady's  errands. 
Dost  thou  mean  to  carry  all  that  to  Blanchemont 
to-night?" 

"No,  by  my  faith!  it  is  too  late.  Madame  Marcelle 
told  me  that  a  day  sooner  or  later  did  not  matter.  And 
then,  too,  can  one  get  into  the  new  chateau  after  tea 
o'clock?  Have  not  they  mended  the  embattled  court 
wall,  and  put  iron  bars  on  the  great  gate  ?  They  are  cap- 

*The  cross  is  the  constellation  of  the  Swan,  and  the  Milky 
Way  that  of  St.  James. 


148  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 

able  of  setting  up  a  drawbridge  over  their  dry  ditch  I 
The  devil  take  me  !  M.  Bricoliu  thinks  himself  already 
lord  of  Blauchemoat,  and  will  soon  have  a  coat-of-arms 
over  his  chimney.  He  will  be  called  de  Bricolin  —  but 
look  here,  mother,  I  bring  you  company  Do  you  rec- 
ognize this  lad  ?  " 

"  Eh  !  it  is  the  gentleman  of  last  month  !  "  said  Grand'- 
Marie ;  "the  one  whom  we  took  for  one  of  the  lady  of 
Blanchemont's  agents  I  But  it  seems  she  does  not 
know  him." 

*'  No,  no,  she  does  not  know  him  at  all,"  said  Grand- 
Louis,  "  and  he  is  no  agent ;  he  is  a  clerk  of  the  registry 
for  the  new  assessment  of  taxes.  Come,  geometer,  sit 
down  and  eat  while  the  meat  is  warm." 

"  Tell  us  then,  sir,"  said  the  miller's  mother,  when  the 
first  course,  namely,  the  lentil  soup,  was  despatched, 
*'  was  it  you  who  wrote  your  name  upon  one  of  our  trees 
on  the  river-bank  ?  " 

""  It  was  I,"  said  Henri.  "  I  ask  your  pardon  for  it ; 
perhaps  my  foolish  school-boy  trick  killed  the  young 
willow?" 

"Saving  your  presence,  it  is  a  white  birch,"  said  the 
miller.  "  You  are  a  true  Parisian,  and  doubtless  do  not 
know  flax  from  potatoes.  But  no  matter.  Our  trees 
laugh  at  the  strokes  of  your  pen-knife,  and  my  mother 
asks  you  only  for  talk." 

"  Oh  !  I  would  not  say  a  word  to  you  for  a  little  tree. 
We  have  enough  beside,"  said  the  old  woman,  "  but  our 
young  lady  was  so  troubled  to  know  who  could  have  cut 
that  name  there  !  And  her  little  boy  read  it  all  himself  I 
Yes,  sir,  a  child  of  four  saw  what  I  could  never  see  in 
letters ! " 

"She  has  been  here  then?"  said  Lemor  inconsider- 
ately, and  without  full  possession  of  his  senses  at  the 
moment. 

"  What  is  that  to  you,  since  you  do  not  know  her?" 
answered  Grand-Louis,  giving  him  a  great  punch  with 
his  knee  to  remind  him  to  feign,  especially  before  his 
mill-boy. 

Lemor  thanked  him  with  a  look,  although  the  warning 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT.  149 

was  none  of  the  gentlest ;  and  fearing  his  own  imprudence, 
did  not  again  open  his  mouth,  except  to  eat. 

When  they  separated  for  the  night,  as  Lemor  was  to 
share  the  miller's  little  room  on  the  ground-floor,  oppo- 
site the  mill,  he  requested  Grand-Louis  not  to  fasten  the 
door  yet,  but  to  let  him  walk  awhile  on  the  banks  of  the 
Vauvre. 

"Pardy,  and  I  will  go  with  you,"  said  Grand-Louis, 
much  interested  in  his  new  friend's  romance,  by  its  re- 
semblance to  his  own.  "  I  know  where  you  are  going, 
and  I  am  in  no  such  hurry  to  sleep  that  I  should  not  take 
a  turn  with  you  in  the  moonlight,  for  there  is  the  moon 
rising,  and  gleaming  on  the  water.  Come,  my  Parisian, 
see  how  silvery  and  proud  she  is  in  the  basin  of  the 
Vauvre,  and  say  if  you  ever  have  so  fair  a  moon  and  so 
beautiful  a  river  in  Paris  !  There  !  "  he  added,  when 
they  came  to  the  foot  of  the  tree,  "  there  is  where  sKq 
leant  while  she  read  your  name.  She  was  this  way 
against  the  rail,  and  she  looked  with  eyes  —  such  as  I 
could  never  make,  though  I  should  spend  two  hours  in 
opening  mine.  So  then,  you  knew  she  would  come  here, 
that  you  left  her  your  signature  ?  " 

"The  strangest  thing  about  it  is  that  I  did  not  know 
it,  and  that  mere  chance  —  a  childish  caprice  —  sug- 
gested to  me  to  leave  this  token  of  my  passage  through  a 
lovely  spot  which  I  never  thought  to  see  again.  I  heard 
at  Paris  that  she  was  ruined.  I  hoped  so  !  I  came  to 
learn  what  I  might  depend  upon,  and  when  I  found  that 
she  was  still  too  rich  for  me,  I  thought  only  of  bidding 
her  farewell." 

"See  you  now!  There  is  a  God  for  lovers,  or  you 
never  would  have  returned  here,  in  fact.  It  was  this  — 
it  was  Mme.  Marcelle's  manner  when  she  questioned  me 
about  the  young  traveller  who  had  cut  this  name — that 
made  me  guess  all  at  once  that  she  loved,  and  that  her 
lover  was  named  Henri.  That  was  what  sharpened  my 
wits  to  divine  the  rest,  for  nothing  has  been  said  to  me. 
I  have  guessed  everything  else,  I  must  confess,  though  I 
boast  of  it  also." 

"How  !  nothing  has  been  confided  to  you,  and  I  have 


I50  THE  MILLER    OF  ANGJBAULT, 

ooufesseil  till?  God's  will  bo  tlonc  I  I  sec  His  hand  in 
ull  this,  and  I  cau  no  lon;:^cr  choose  but  yield  to  the  ab- 
solute confidence  with  which  you  inspire  me." 

*'  I  wish  I  could  say  as  much  to  you,"  said  Grand- 
Louis,  taking  his  hand,  "  for  may  the  devil  pound  me  if 
1  do  not  love  you !  And  still  there  is  something  that 
always  worries  me." 

"  How  can  you  yet  still  suspect  me,  when  I  return  to 
your  Black  Valley  only  to  breathe  the  air  which  she  has 
breathed,  when  I  know  at  last  that  she  is  poor?  " 

••*  But  might  not  you  have  been  among  the  notaries  and 
lawyers  while  I  was  looking  for  you  this  morning?  And 
if  you  had  learned  that  she  is  still  rich  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  say  ?  Can  it  be  true  ?  "  cried  Lemor, 
in  a  woful  tone.  "  Do  not  play  so  with  me,  friend !  you 
accuse  me  of  things  so  absurd,  that  I  do  not  even  think 
of  justifying  myself.  But  one  thing  I  must  tell  you  in  a 
word.  If  Madame  de  Blanchemont  is  still  rich,  thougk 
she  would  accept  the  love  of  a  working-man  like  me,  I 
must  quit  her  forever.  Oh  !  if  it  be  so,  if  I  must  know 
it,  not  yet,  in  Heaven's  name !  Let  me  dream  of  happi- 
ness till  to-morrow,  till  I  leave  this  country  for  a  year,  or 
forever !  " 

"  Now,  good  friend,  you  are  a  little  cracked,"  cried 
the  miller.  "And  at  this  moment  you  even  seem  so 
exaggerated,  that  I  fear  lest  it  be  an  attempt  to  de- 
ceive me." 

"You  are  not  like  me,  then?  You  do  not  hate 
wealth?" 

"  No,  I  neither  hate  nor  love  it  for  itself,  but  for  the 
good  or  evil  it  can  do  me.  For  example,  I  detest  Father 
Bricolin's  gold,  because  it  hinders  me  from  marrying  his 
daughter  —  ah !  the  deuce !  I  let  slip  names  that  you 
might  as  well  be  ignorant  of — But  I  know  your  affairs, 
after  all,  and  you  may  as  well  know  mine.  So  I  say 
that  I  detest  that  gold  ;  but  I  should  heartily  like  to  have 
thirty  or  forty  thousand  francs  fall  on  me  from  the  sky, 
and  enable  me  to  propose  to  Rose." 

"  I  do  not  think  as  you  do.  If  I  owned  a  million,  I 
would  not  keep  it." 


THE  MILLER    OF  ANGIBAULT.  151 

"  You  would  throw  it  into  the  river  rather  than  make 
a  title  from  it  to  reestablish  equality  between  her  and 
you  ?     You  are  a  droll  chap,  after  all." 

"  I  think  I  should  distribute  it  among  the  poor,  like  the 
early  communist  Christians,  so  as  to  rid  myself  of  it, 
though  I  know  very  well  that  it  would  not  be  doing  any 
real  good,  for  those  first  disciples  of  equality  formed  a 
society,  when  they  gave  up  their  property,  and  gave  to 
the  unfortunate  a  legislation  which  was  at  the  same  time 
a  religion.  That  money  was  food  for  the  soul  as  well  as 
for  the  body.  There  was  a  doctrine  of  mutual  division, 
and  it  had  its  adepts.  There  is  nothing  like  it  now. 
There  is,  indeed,  the  conception  of*  a  holy  and  providential 
community,  but  its  laws  are  as  yet  unknown.  The  little 
world  of  the  first  Christians  cannot  be  renewed,  for  this 
doctrine  would  be  its  first  necessity  ;  we  have  it  not,  and 
besides,  men  are  not  disposed  to  receive  it.  The  money 
which  might  be  distributed  among  a  handful  of  wretches 
would  breed  only  selfishness  and  indolence  in  them,  un- 
less they  were  at  the  same  time  instructed  in  the  duties 
of  association.  And  I  repeat  to  you,  friend,  there  is  not 
yet  on  the  one  side  intelligence  enough  in  the  initiators, 
nor  on  the  other  enough  confidence,  sympathy,  and  im- 
pulse in  the  initiated.  This  is  why,  when  Marcelle  (I 
dare  name  her,  too,  now  that  you  have  named  Rose)  pro- 
posed to  me  to  do  like  the  apostles,  and  give  this  wealth 
at  which  I  shuddered  to  the  poor,  I  recoiled  before  her 
sacrifice,  for  I  did  not  feel  in  myself  suflicient  science  and 
genius  to  make  it  fruitful  in  her  hands  for  the  progress  of 
humanity.  To  possess  riches  and  render  them  useful,  as 
I  understand  the  term,  there  needs  a  man  of  more  than 
heart  —  of  genius.  I  am  not  such  an  one,  and  in  think- 
ing on  the  rooted  vices,  the  fearful  selfishness  induced  by 
the  possession  of  fortune,  I  feel  myself  cold  with  dread. 
I  thank  God  for  having  made  me  poor  — I,  who  just  es- 
caped a  large  heritage  —  and  I  swear  never  to  possess 
more  than  my  week's  wages  ! " 

"So,  you  thank  God  for  having  made  you  wise  by  a 
pure  act  of  His  goodness,  and  you  profit  by  the  chance 
that  has  preserved  you  from  evil  ?     It  is  a  mighty  easy 


152  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 

virtiKi,  and  I  am  not  so  much  amazed  at  it  as  you  may 
think.  Now  I  understand  why  Mme.  Marcelle  was  so 
pleased  yesterday  at  being  ruined.  You  put  all  these 
fine  things  into  her  head  !  It  is  very  pretty,  but  it  means 
nothing.  What  is  it  more  than  if  one  should  say,  '  If  I 
were  rich,  1  should  be  wicked,  and  I  am  rejoiced  not  to 
be  so*?  It  is  just  like  my  grandmother  saying,'!  do 
not  like  eels,  and  I  am  very  glad  of  it,  for  if  I  liked  them 
I  should  eat  them.*  Let  us  see  why  should  you  not  be 
rich  and  generous?  Why,  even  if  you  did  nothing  better  j 
than  to  give  bread  to  those  around  us  who  are  in  want,  1 
that  would  be  already  something,  and  the  money  would  * 
be  better  placed  in  your  hands  than  in  those  of  misers  — 
oh,  I  know  what  you  would  have.  I  have  understood  — 
J  am  not  so  stupid  as  you  think,  and  I  have  read,  now 
and  then,  newspapers  and  pamphlets,  from  which  I  know 
a  little  of  what  is  going  on  beyond  our  farms,  where  it  is 
true  enough  that  there  is  nothing  new  —  I  see  that  you 
are  a  maker  of  new  systems,  an  economist,  a  philosopher  !  " 

"  No.  It  is,  perhaps,  a  misfortune,  but  I  know  less  of 
the  science  of  numbers  than  of  any  other,  and  nothing  of 
what  is  at  the  present  day  understood  by  political  econ- 
omy. It  is  a  vicious  circle,  in  which  I  can  imagine  no 
amusement  in  turning.'* 

"  You  have  not  studied  a  science  without  which  you  can 
try  nothing  new  ?     In  that  case,  you  are  indolent." 

"  No,  but  a  dreamer." 

"  I  understand.     You  are  what  is  called  a  poet.'* 

"  I  have  never  made  verses,  and  now  I  am  a  workman. 
Do  not  take  me  so  seriously.  I  am  a  child,  and  a  love- 
sick child.  My  only  merit  is  to  have  learned  my  trade, 
and  I  am  about  to  practise  it.*' 

"  That  is  well !  gain  your  living  as  I  do  mine,  and  do 
not  plague  yourself  as  to  the  way  the  world  goes,  since 
you  can  do  nothing  about  it.'* 

*'  What  reasoning,  my  friend  !  Suppose  you  were 
bound  to  this  tree,  and  saw  a  boat  capsize  on  the  river 
with  a  family  on  board  ;  would  you  see  them  perish  with 
indifference  because  you  could  not  help  them  }  *' 

"  No,  sir,  I  would  break  the  tree,  were  it  ten  times  as 


THE  MILLER    OF  ANGIBAULT.  153 

large.     I  should  have  such  good  will,  that  God  would 
perform  this  little  miracle  lor  me." 

"  And  yet  the  human  family  perishes,"  cried  Lemor, 
mournfully,  "  and  God  does  no  more  miracles  !  " 

"  True  enough  !  nobody  believes  in  Him.  But  I  be- 
lieve in  Him,  and  I  declare  to  you,  since  we  are  in  a  way 
to  keep  nothing  from  each  other,  that  in  my  secretest 
thought,  I  have  never  despaired  of  marrying  Rose  Bric- 
olin.  Yet  to  bring  her  father  to  accept  a  poor  son-in-law, 
would  be  a  more  amazing  miracle  than  to  break  with  my 
arm  alone  the  great  tree  before  you.  Well !  this  miracle 
will  be  performed,  I  know  not  how ;  I  shall  have  fifty 
thousand  francs.  I  shall  find  them  in  the  ground  when 
1  plant  my  cabbages,  or  in  the  river  as  I  throw  my  nets, 
or  some  idea  —  no  matter  what  —  will  come  to  me.  I 
shall  discover  something,  since  an  idea,  they  say,  is 
enough  to  move  the  world." 

"  You  will  discover  the  means  of  applying  equality  to 
a  society  which  only  exists  through  inequality,  will  you 
not?"  said  Henri,  with  a  melancholy  smile. 

"Why  not,  sir?"  returned  the  miller,  with  cheerful 
vivacity.  "  When  I  have  my  fortune,  as  I  should  not 
like  to  be  avaricious  and  wicked,  and  as  I  am  very  sure 
of  never  becoming  either,  any  more  than  my  grand- 
mother ever  became  fond  of  eels,  which  she  could  not 
endure,  then  I  must  be  all  at  once  wiser  than  you,  and 
find  in  my  brain  what  you  have  not  found  in  your  books : 
namely,  the  secret  of  doing  justice  with  my  power,  and 
giving  happiness  with  my  wealth.  Does  that  amaze 
you  ?  Nevertheless,  my  Parisian,  I  declare  to  you  that  I 
know  less  of  political  economy  than  you,  and  understand 
neither  the  a  nor  h  of  it.  But  what  of  that,  since  I  have 
will  and  faith  ?  Read  the  Gospel,  sir.  My  opinion  is 
that  you,  who  talk  so  well  about  it,  have  forgotten  that 
the  first  apostles  were  men  of  nothing,  knowing  nothing, 
like  me.  The  good  God  breathed  upon  them,  and  they 
knew  more  than  all  the  school-masters  and  curates  of 
their  time." 

"O  people!  thou  prophesyest ! "  cried  Lemor,  strain- 
ing the  miller  to  his  heart.     "It  is  indeed  for  thee  that 


'54 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 


God  will  perform  miracles  ;  the  Holy  Ghost  will  breatlio 
iipou  thee  !  Thou  knowcst  not  discouragement ;  thou 
doubtest  of  nothing.  Thou  feclest  that  the  heart  is 
stronger  than  science ;  thou  feelest  thy  force,  thy  love, 
and  thou  art  sure  of  inspiration  !  This  is  the  reason  that 
I  burned  my  books  —  this  is  why  I  wished  to  return  to 
the  ranks  of  the  people,  from  which  my  parents  forced 
me.  This  is  why  I  go  among  the  poor  and  simple  in 
heart,  to  seek  that  faith  and  zeal  which  I  have  lost  in 
growing  great  among  the  rich  !  " 

"  I  see  !  "    said  the  miller,     "  You  are  a  sick  man  \ 
searching  for  health." 

"  Ah,  I  should  find  it  if  I  lived  near  you !  " 

"  I  would  give  it  you  with  all  my  heart,  if  you  would 
promise  not  to  give  me  your  disease.  And  to  begin, 
speak  to  me  reasonably :  tell  me  that  whatever  be  Mme. 
Marcelle's  position,  you  will  marry  her  if  she  consent." 

"  You  recall  my  anguish.  You  told  me  that  she  had 
nothing ;  you  have  seemed  to  bethink  yourself  since,  and 
give  me  to  understand  that  she  is  still  rich." 

"  Come,  then,  here  is  the  truth  —  it  was  a  trial  of  you. 
The  three  hundred  thousand  francs  still  remain,  and  let 
Father  Bricolin  do  his  best,  I  will  advise  her  so  well  that 
she  shall  keep  them.  With  three  hundred  thousand  francs, 
comrade,  I  hope  you  may  do  some  good,  since  I  propose 
to  save  the  world  with  fifty  thousand  that  I  have  not !  " 

"I  admire  and  envy  your  gayety,"  said  Lemor,  over- 
powered ;  "  but  you  plunge  the  dagger  again  to  my  heart. 
I  adore  this  woman,  this  angel,  and  I  cannot  be  the  hus- 
band of  a  rich  wife !  Upon  the  subject  of  honor  the 
world  has  prejudices  which  I  have  entertained  in  spite  of 
myself,  and  cannot  shake  off.  I  could  not  look  upon  her 
fortune  as  mine  ;  she  owes  it  to  her  son,  and  will  doubt- 
less preserve  it  for  him.  Thus  I  could  not  think  of  mak- 
ing myself  useful  by  my  riches,  without  failing  in  what 
is  considered  probity.  And  then  I  should  have  certain 
scruples  about  condemning  to  indigence  a  woman  for 
whom  I  feel  an  infinite  tenderness,  and  a  child  whose 
future  independence  I  respect.  I  should  suffer  in  their 
privations,  and  shudder  every  hour  lest  they  should  sue 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT.  155 

«umb  before  too  hard  a  life.  Alas  !  tliis  child  and  this 
woman  do  not  belong  to  the  same  race  that  we  do,  Grand- 
Louis.  They  are  the  dethroned  masters  of  the  world, 
who  would  demand  from  their  former  slaves  the  luxuries 
and  attentions  to  which  they  are  accustomed.  \ye  should 
see  them  faint  and  fail  beneath  our  thatched  roofs.  Their 
feeble  hands  would  be  bruised  by  labqr,  and  it  may  be 
that  our  love  could  not  sustain  them  to  the  end  of  a  strug- 
gle which  is  already  crushing  ourselves  — " 

"  Here  is  your  malady  coming  on  again,  and  faith  de- 
serting you,"  interrupted  Grand-Louis.  "'  You  lose  be- 
lief even  in  love  ;  you  do  not  see  that  sAe  would  bear  all 
for  you,  and  be  happy  in  so  doing  ?  You  are  not  worthy 
to  be  so  greatly  loved,  that  is  a  fact !  " 

"  Ah,  ray  friend,  let  her  become  poor,  absolutely  poor, 
if  only  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  making  her  so,  and  you 
shall  see  if  I  lack  courage  to  sustain  her  !  " 

"  Well !  then  you  will  labor  to  earn  a  little  money,  as 
we  all  do.  Why  so  despise  the  money  that  she  has, 
which  is  earned  already  ?  " 

•' It  was  not  earned  by  the  labor  of  the  poor.  It  is 
stolen  money." 

"How  so?" 

"  It  is  the  heritage  of  the  feudal  rapine  of  her  ances- 
tors. Their  castles  were  strengthened,  and  their  lands 
fattened,  by  the  blood  and  the  sweat  of  the  people." 

''  True  enough,  that !  but  money  does  not  keep  that  sort 
of  rust.  It  has  the  gift  of  being  pure  or  unclean,  accord- 
ing to  the  hand  that  holds  it." 

"  No  I  "  said  Lemor,  with  fire.  "  Some  money  is 
soiled,  and  it  soils  the  hand  that  receives  it." 

"  That  is  a  metaphor  !  "  said  the  miller,  quietly.  "  It 
is  all  the  while  the  money  of  the  poor,  since  it  has  been 
extorted  from  them  by  pillage,  violence,  and  tyranny. 
Must  the  poor  abstain  from  taking  it  again  because  rob- 
bers have  long  handled  it  ?  Come,  let  us  go  to  bed,  my 
dear  fellow,  you  are  unreasonable  ;  you  shall  not  go  to 
Blanchemont.  I  am  less  than  ever  for  having  you  go, 
since  you  have  nothing  but  nonsense  to  say  to  my  dear 
lady  ;  but,  by  my  faith  !  you  shall  not  leave  me  till  you 


156  Tim  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT, 

renounce  your  —  what  is  the  word  now? — your  utopics. 
Shall  it  be  80?" 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Lemor,  sad  and  thoughtful,  and  drawn 
by  his  love  to  submit  to  the  ascendancy  of  his  new 
friend. 


THE  MILLER    OF  ANGIBAULT.  157 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

A   PORTRAIT. 

T^T'E  do  not  know  whether  a  minute  description  of  the 
^  ^  features  and  costume  of  the  characters  in  a  novel 
is  in  strict  conformity  to  the  rules  of  art.  Perhaps  the 
story-tellers  of  our  time  (and  we  among  the  first)  have 
somewhat  abused  the  fashion  of  portraits  in  their  narra- 
tives. Nevertheless,  it  is  an  old  custom,  and  while  we 
hope  that  future  masters,  in  condemning  our  details,  will 
sketch  their  own  figures  in  broader  and  clearer  outlines, 
we  do  not  feel  our  hand  strong  enough  to  quit  the  beaten 
route,  and  we  will  now  repair  our  previous  forgetfulness 
by  drawing  the  portrait  of  one  of  our  heroines. 

Would  it  not,  indeed,  seem  that  something  essential  was 
wanting  to  the  interest  of  a  love  story,  however  veracious, 
if  one  was  ignorant  whether  the  heroine  were  gifted  with 
a  more  or  less  remarkable  beauty  ?  It  is  not  even  enough 
to  say,  "  She  is  beautiful."  However  little  we  may  have 
been  struck  by  her  adventures,  or  the  peculiarity  of  her 
situation,  we  want  to  know  whether  she  is  dark  or  fair, 
tall  or  short,  languid  or  animated,  elegant  or  simple  in 
her  appearance  ;  if  we  heard  that  she  were  passing  in  the 
street,  we  should  run  to  the  windows  to  see  her,  and  ac- 
cording to  the  impression  made  upon  us  by  her  coun- 
tenance, we  should  be  disposed  to  love  her,  or  forgive  her 
for  having  drawn  public  attention  upon  herself. 

Such  was  doubtless  Rose  Bricolin's  opinion.  It  was 
the  morning  of  the  first  night  that  she  had  shared  her 
chamber  with  Madame  de  Blanchemont,  and  still  indo- 
lently recumbent  on  her  pillow,  while  the  more  active 
and  matinal  young  widow  was  already  completing  her 
toilet.  Rose  examined  her  attentively,  and  asked  herself 


158  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 

whether  this  Parisian  beauty  would  eclipse  her  own  at  the 
village  fete  which  was  to  take  place  the  next  day. 

Marcclle  dc  Blanchemont  was  less  in  height  than  she 
appeared,  thanks  to  the  elegance  of  her  proportions  and 
the  dignity  of  all  her  attitudes.  We  must  confess  that 
slie  was  a  blonde,  but  not  an  insipid  blonde,  neither  was 
she  of  that  ashen  fairness  so  much  over-praised,  which 
almost  always  deprives  the  face  of  vitality,  because  it  usu- 
ally betokens  a  powerless  organization.  She  was  a 
warm,  living,  golden  blonde,  and  her  hair  was  one  of  her 
chief  beauties.  In  her  childhood  she  had  been  wonder- 
fully beautiful,  and  at  the  convent  they  called  her  the 
cherub  ;  at  eighteen  she  was  only  a  very  pleasing  person, 
but  at  twenty-two  she  was  such  that  she  had  uncon- 
sciously inspired  love  in  more  than  one.  Yet  her  fea- 
tures were  not  remarkably  perfect,  and  their  freshness 
was  often  lessened  by  a  slightly  feverish  animation.  The 
activity  of  an  ardent  spirit  was  shown  by  the  dark  shade 
around  her  brilliant  blue  eyes.  Her  varying  color,  her 
clear  and  open  look,  and  the  light  down  at  the  corners  of 
her  mouth,  were  so  many  certain  indications  of  an  ener- 
getic will  and  a  devoted,  disinterested,  courageous  char- 
acter. At  first  sight  she  pleased  without  dazzling ;  after- 
wards she  dazzled  more  and  more,  without  ceasing  to 
please  ;  and  they  who  scarcely  thought  her  pretty  at  the 
first  meeting,  were  soon  unable  to  disengage  their  eyes  or 
thoughts  from  her. 

Love  had  wrought  a  second  transformation  in  her. 
Busy  and  cheerful  at  the  convent,  she  was  never  pensive 
or  melancholy  before  she  met  Lemor  ;  and  even  since  she 
loved  him,  she  was  still  prompt  and  decided  even  in  the 
smallest  things.  But  a  deep  attachment,  by  directing  all 
the  strength  of  her  will  towards  one  single  aim,  had  given 
a  firmer  cast  to  her  features,  and  a  new  and  mysterious 
charm  to  all  her  manners.  No  one  knew  that  she  loved  ; 
every  one  felt  that  she  was  capable  of  passionate  affec- 
tion, and  no  man  approached  her  without  desiring  to  in- 
spire her  either  with  love  or  friendship.  There  had  been 
a  time  when  women,  jealous  of  her  on  account  of  this 
powerful   attraction,  had  accused  her    of  coquetry,   but 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 


159 


never  was  reproach  less  deserved.  Marcelle  had  no  time 
to  lose  in  so  childish  and  indelicate  an  amusement.  She 
never  even  thought  of  it ;  and  when  she  suddenly  retired 
from  society,  she  had  not  to  reproach  herself  with  having 
wilfully  marked  her  passage  through  it  with  scars. 

Rose  Bricolin,  undeniably  more  beautiful,  but  whose 
childlike  emotions  were  less  mysterious  to  trace  and  di- 
vine, had  heard  the  young  baroness  of  Blanchemont  men- 
tioned as  one  of  the  beauties  of  the  Parisian  world,  and 
she  could  not  easily  comprehend  how  this  delicate  blonde, 
so  simply  dressed,  and  with  such  natural  manners,  could 
have  acquired  such  a  reputation.  Rose  did  not  know 
that  in  highly  civilized,  and  consequently  highly  hlase 
society,  animation  from  within  lends  a  magic  charm  to  a 
woman's  exterior,  which  always  effaces  the  classic  maj- 
esty of  colder  beauty.  Still  Rose  felt  that  she  already 
loved  Marcelle  fondly  ;  she  could  not  yet  account  to  her- 
self for  the  attraction  exerted  by  her  bright,  frank  look, 
the  winning  tones  of  her  voice,  her  quick  and  kindly 
smile,  and  the  decided  and  generous  tone  of  her  whole 
being.  "  She  is  not  as  handsome  as  I  thought !"  mused 
she;  "how  is  it,  then,  that  I  wish  to  be  like  her?" 
Rose,  in  fact,  caught  herself  dressing  her  hair  as  she  did, 
involuntarily  imitating  her  walk,  her  quick  and  graceful 
way  of  turning  her  head,  and  even  the  inflexions  of  her 
voice.  She  succeeded  so  well  as  to  lose  in  a  few  days 
some  of  her  remaining  rustic  awkwardness,  which,  how- 
ever, had  not  been  without  its  charm ;  but  it  may  be 
truly  said  that  this  new  vivacity  was  rather  inspired  than 
borrowed,  and  that  she  had  soon  made  it  so  entirely  her 
own  as  much  to  enhance  her  natural  gifts.  Neither  was 
Rose  destitute  of  courage  and  frankness  ;  Marcelle  was 
rather  destined  to  develop  her  true  character,  which  had 
been  stifled  by  outward  circumstances,  than  to  suggest  to 
her  a  new  one  purely  imitative  and  factitious. 


l6o  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT, 


CHAPTER    XX. 

LOVE   AND   MONET. 

T^TTHILE  moving  about  the  chamber,  Marcelle  heard 
' '^  a  strange  voice  in  the  next  room,  deep,  and  yet 
shrill  as  an  old  woman's.  It  seemed  to  be  strained  from 
cavernous  lungs,  which  could  neither  release  nor  contain 
it,  and  frequently  repeated  : 

"  For  they  took  all  from  me  —  everything,  even  my 
clothes ! " 

And  a  firmer  voice,  recognizable  for  that  of  the  grand- 
mother, replied : 

"  Be  quiet  now,  my  master.*  I  was  not  talking  to  you 
of  that." 

Seeing  her  companion's  astonishment.  Rose  undertook 
to  explain  this  dialogue  to  her.  "  There  has  always  been 
misfortune  in  our  house,"  said  she,  "  and  even  before  my 
poor  sister  or  I  were  born,  there  was  ill-luck  in  the  family. 
You  saw  my  grandfather,  who  looks  so  very  old?  It  is 
he  whom  you  heard  just  now.  He  seldom  speaks,  but  he 
is  so  deaf,  that  when  he  does,  you  can  hear  him  all  over 
the  house.  He  almost  always  repeats  nearly  the  same 
thing,  '  They  have  taken  all  from  me,  pillaged  all,  stolen 
all  I '  He  never  goes  beyond  that,  and  if  my  grand- 
mother, who  has  great  control  over  him,  had  not  made 
him  keep  still,  he  would  have  said  it  as  a  greeting  to  you 
yesterday." 

"And  what  does  it  mean?"  asked  Marcelle. 

*'  Can  it  be  that  you  have  not  heard  of  that  story?" 
said  Rose.     "  It  made  enough  noise,  nevertheless  ;  but  it 

•  In  speaking  of  their  husbands,  aged  women  in  the  country 
still  follow  the  old  custom  of  saying  my  master.  In  our  gen- 
eration thej  say  my  man. 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT.  i6l 

IS  true  that  you  have  never  been  in  this  part  of  the  coun- 
try, and  that  you  have  never  minded  what  might  be  going 
on  here.  I  v^ill  warrant  that  you  do  not  know  that  for 
more  than  fifty  years  the  Bricolins  have  been  the  farmers 
of  Blanchemont  ? '* 

"  I  knew  that,  and  even  that  your  grandfather,  before 
settling  here,  held  a  considerable  farm  at  Blanc,  belong- 
ing to  my  grandfather." 

"  Ah,  well !  if  so,  you  have  heard  of  the  story  of  the 
chauffeurs  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  longer  ago  than  I  can  remember,  for  it  was 
an  old  story  when  I  was  but  a  child." 

"  It  happened  more  than  forty  years  ago,  as  far  as  I 
know  myself,  for  we  do  not  willingly  talk  of  it  here.  It 
is  too  shocking  and  too  fearful.  My  lord,  your  grand- 
father, at  the  time  of  the  troubles,  intrusted  to  my  grand- 
papa Bricolin  the  sum  of  fifty  thousand  francs  in  gold, 
desiring  him  to  hide  it  in  some  of  the  old  castle  walls, 
while  he  lay  concealed  in  Paris,  where  he  escaped  being 
denounced.  You  know  that  better  than  I.  Now,  then, 
my  grandpapa  had  this  gold  secreted  with  his  own  in  the 
old  castle  of  Beaufort,  where  he  was  farmer,  twenty 
leagues  from  here.  I  have  never  been  there.  Your 
grandfather  was  in  no  haste  to  reclaim  his  deposit  from 
him,  and  unfortunately,  in  writing  him  a  letter  to  that 
effect,  took  a  scoundrel  of  a  notary  into  his  confidence. 
The  night  following  the  chauffeurs  came,  and  subjected 
my  poor  grandfather  to  a  thousand  tortures,  till  he  told 
where  the  money  was  hidden.  They  carried  off*  all,  both 
his  and  yours,  and  even  my  grandmother's  house-linen 
and  wedding  jewels.  My  father,  who  was  then  a  child, 
was  bound  and  thrown  on  a  bed.  He  saw  it  all,  and 
nearly  died  with  fright.  My  grandmother  was  shut  up 
in  the  cellar.  The  working-men  also  were  beaten  and 
tied,  and  pistols  were  held  to  their  throats  to  hinder  them 
from  crying  out.  At  last,  when  the  robbers  had  laid 
hands  on  all  that  they  could  carry  away,  they  withdrew 
without  any  great  mystery,  and  remained  unpunished, 
nobody  knows  why.  And  from  that  trouble  my  poor 
grandpapa,  who  was  then  young,  became  suddenly  old« 


l62  TUB  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT- 

He  has  never  recovered  his  mind,  his  brain  is  weakened, 
he  has  lost  the  memory  of  almost  everything,  save  this 
dreadful  business,  and  he  never  opens  his  mouth  without 
alluding  to  it.  Always,  since  that  night,  he  has  trembled 
as  you  see ;  and  his  legs,  which  were  withered  by  the 
fire,  have  continued  so  slender  and  weak  that  he  has  never 
been  able  to  work  since.  Your  grandfather,  who  was  a 
worthy  lord,  by  what  is  said  of  him,  never  reclaimed  his 
money,  and  even  granted  all  the  rents  which  he  had  not 
taken  up  for  five  years  to  my  grandmother,  who  then,  by 
her  courage  and  clear  head,  had  become  the  man  of  the 
family.  This  restored  our  affairs  ;  and  when  my  father 
was  old  enough  to  take  the  farm  of  Blanchemont,  he  had 
already  some  credit.  This  is  our  history  ;  joined  to  that 
of  my  poor  sister,  you  see  that  it  is  not  very  cheerful." 

Marcelle  was  much  impressed  by  this  recital,  and  the 
Bricolin  home  appeared  still  more  gloomy  to  her  than  the 
day  before.  These  people,  in  the  midst  of  their  prosper- 
ity, seemed  doomed  to  something  tragic  and  disastrous. 
Between  the  maniac  and  the  idiot,  Mme.  de  Blanche- 
mont felt  struck  with  instinctive  terror  and  deep  melan- 
choly. She  was  amazed  that  the  careless  and  luxuriant 
beauty  of  Rose  could  have  been  developed  in  such  an  at- 
mosphere of  catastrophes  and  violent  contests,  in  which 
money  had  borne  so  fatal  a  part. 

Seven  rang  from  the  cuckoo-clock,  affectionately  pre- 
served by  Mother  Bricolin  in  her  chamber,  which  was 
lumbered  up  with  all  the  old  rustic  furniture  cast  aside  in 
the  rearrangement  of  the  new  chateau,  and  was  contig- 
uous to  that  occupied  by  Rose  and  Marcelle,  when  the 
small  Fanchon  came  joyfully  to  announce  that  her  mas- 
ter  had  just  come. 

"  She  means  Grand-Louis,"  said  Rose.  "  But  why 
must  she  needs  proclaim  it  as  great  news  to  us  ?  " 

And  notwithstanding  her  little  scornful  tone,  Rose  be- 
came crimson  as  the  fullest  blown  of  the  flowers  whose 
name  she  proudly  bore. 

"  But  he  is  full  of  business,  and  asked  to  speak  with 
you,"  said  Fanchon,  disconcerted. 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT.  163 

'*  With  me  ?  "  said  Rose,  shrugging  her  shoulders,  but 
blushing  more  and  more. 

"  No,  with  Madame  Marcelle,"  said  the  girl. 

Marcelle  went  toward  the  door  which  Fanchon  was 
holding  wide  open  as  possible,  but  was  obliged  to  draw 
back  for  the  entrance  of  a  farm-boy  carrying  a  trunk, 
and  of  Grand-Louis,  himself  carrying  one  still  heavier, 
which  he  placed  on  the  floor  with  much  ease. 

"  All  your  errands  are  done,"  said  he,  laying  also  a 
bag  of  money  on  the  bureau. 

Then,  without  waiting  for  Marcelle's  thanks,  he  cast 
his  eyes  upon  Edward,  who,  beautiful  as  an  angel,  lay 
asleep  in  the  bed  his  mother  had  left.  Drawn  by  his 
love  for  children,  and  especially  for  this  one,  who  was  ir- 
resistibly charming,  Grand-Louis  approached  the  bed  to 
see  him  nearer,  and  Edward,  opening  his  eyes,  stretched 
out  his  arms  to  him,  calling  him  by  the  name  of  alochon, 
which  he  persisted  in  giving  him. 

"  See  how  well  he  looks  already,  since  he  has  come  to 
our  country !  "  said  the  miller,  taking  one  of  the  little 
hands  to  kiss.  But  there  was  a  sudden  movement  of  the 
curtains  behind  him,  and  turning,  Grand-Louis  saw  the 
pretty  arm  of  Rose,  who,  thoroughly  vexed  and  ashamed 
at  this  invasion  of  her  apartment,  closed  her  embroidered 
hangings  with  a  loud  noise.  Grand-Louis,  who  did  not 
know  that  Rose  had  shared  her  chamber  with  Marcelle, 
and  did  not  expect  to  find  her  there,  stood  confounded, 
repentant,  ashamed,  and  yet  unable  to  take  his  eyes  from 
the  white  hand  so  awkwardly  holding  the  curtain  fringes. 

Marcelle  then  perceived  the  impropriety  that  she  had 
permitted,  and  reproached  herself  with  the  aristocratic 
habits  by  which  she  had  unconsciously  been  governed  at 
the  moment.  Aecustomed  to  consider  a  porter  as  in  no 
respect  a  man,  she  had  not  thought  of  protecting  Rose's 
apartment  against  the  miller,  and  the  boy  who  brought 
her  baggage.  Ashamed  and  repentant  in  her  turn,  she 
was  about  to  tell  Grand-Louis,  who  seemed  petrified 
in  his  place,  to  withdraw  with  all  speed,  when  Mme. 
Bricolin  appeared  bristling  at  the  chamber  door,  and  stood 
mute  with  horror  at  seeing  the  miller,  her  mortal  foe, 


164  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 

standing,  distressed,  between  the  two  beds  of  the  young 
ladies. 

Slie  said  not  a  word,  and  went  out  hastily,  like  one 
who  finds  a  thief  in  the  house,  and  runs  to  call  the  po- 
lice. She  ran,  in  fact,  to  find  M.  Bricolin,  who  was  in 
the  kitchen  taking  his  third  morning  draught,  each  being 
a  pint  of  white  wine. 

"  M.  Bricolin  ! "  said  she,  in  a  choked  voice,  "  conio 
quick  !  quick !  dost  thou  hear  ?  " 

"  What  is  to  pay  now  ?  "  said  the  farmer,  not  liking  to 
be  disturbed  in  what  he  called  his  refreshment,  "  Is  the 
house  on  fire  ?  " 

"  Come,  I  tell  thee,  and  see  what  is  going  on ! "  an- 
swered his  wife,  almost  speechless  with  anger. 

"  Ah !  faith !  if  there  is  anything  to  fret  about," 
said  Bricolin,  accustomed  to  his  moiety's  temper,  "  thou 
canst  manage  it  very  well  without  me.  I  am  easy  about 
it." 

Seeing  that  he  did  not  stir,  Mme.  Bricolin  came  up  to 
him,  and  swallowing  with  an  effort,  for  she  was  actually 
strangling  with  rage : 

"Wilt  thou  stir?"  said  she,  at  last,  but  cautiously, 
that  she  might  not  be  heard  by  the  servants ;  "  I  tell 
thee  that  thy  clod-hopper  of  a  miller  is  in  Rose's  cham- 
ber, while  Rose  is  still  in  bed." 

"  Ah !  so,  that  is  improper,  very  improper,"  said  M. 
Bricolin,  rising,  "  and  I  will  give  him  a  piece  of  my 
mind.  But  no  noise,  wife,  dost  thou  hear?  on  account 
of  the  child  !  " 

"  Go  along,  and  make  no  noise  thyself!  Ah  !  I  hope 
thou  wilt  believe  me  now,  and  wilt  treat  him  like  an  un- 
mannerly, impudent  fellow  as  he  is  !  " 

Just  as  M.  Bricolin  was  leaving  the  kitchen,  he  came 
full  upon  Grand-Louis. 

'*  By  my  faith,  M.  Bricolin,"  said  he,  with  an  irre- 
sistibly candid  manner,  "  you  see  a  man  shocked  at  the 
stupidity  he  has  just  been  guilty  of." 

And  he  simply  related  the  facts. 

''Thou  seest  that  he  did  not  do  it  on  purpose?"  said 
M.  Bricolin,  turning  to  his  wife. 


THE  MILLER    OF  ANGIBAULT.  165 

"  Aud  is  that  the  way  thou  takest  things?"  cried 
the  dame,  giving  free  course  to  her  fury.  Then  rushing  to 
both  the  doors,  and  slamming  them,  she  came  back  be- 
tween the  miller  and  M.  Bricolin,  who  was  already  offering 
some  refreshment  to  the  culprit.  "  No,  M.  Bricolin," 
screamed  she,  "I  cannot  comprehend  thy  imbecility! 
Thou  dost  not  see  that  this  good-for-nothing  fellow  treats 
our  daughter  in  a  way  not  suitable  for  people  like  him, 
and  which  we  cannot  longer  endure?  Then  I  must  let 
him  know  myself,  and  tell  him  —  " 

"  Tell  nothing  yet,  Mme.  Bricolin,"  said  the  farmer, 
raising  his  voice  in  his  turn,  "  and  give  me  a  little 
chance  at  my  business  as  head  of  the  family.  Ah !  to 
hear  thee,  I  know  I  might  fasten  my  breeches  with  pins, 
and  thou  shouldst  put  suspenders  to  thy  petticoat ! 
Come,  come,  don't  make  a  din  in  my  ears  so  early.  I 
know  what  I  have  to  say  to  this  boy,  and  I  wish  nobody 
else  to  meddle  with  it.  Come,  wife,  tell  Chounette  to 
bring  us  a  fresh  stoup  of  wine,  and  go  tend  thy 
chickens." 

Mme.  Bricolin  would  have  answered.  Her  husband 
took  a  great  crab-tree  stick  which  always  stood  by  his 
chair  while  he  drank,  and  began  to  beat  time  on  the 
table  with  all  his  might,  and  the  tremendous  din  so  com- 
pletely drowned  her  voice,  that  she  was  forced  to  retreat, 
which  she  did,  banging  the  door  after  her. 

"What  would  you  be  pleased  to  want,  master?"  said 
Chounette,  running  in  at  the  noise. 

M.  Bricolin  took  the  empty  flagon  and  handed  it  ma- 
jestically to  her,  rolling  his  eyes  the  while  in  a  terrific 
manner.  The  fat  Chounette  became  lighter  than  a  bird 
to  execute  the  orders  of  the  potentate  of  Blanchemont. 

"  My  poor  Grand-Louis,"  said  the  great  man  when 
they  were  alone,  with  the  wine  stoup  between  their 
glasses,  "thou  must  know  that  my  wife  is  angered  with 
thee ;  she  bears  thee  a  mortal  grudge,  and,  but  for  me, 
she  would  have  turned  thee  out  of  the  house.  But  we 
are  old  friends,  we  need  one  another,  and  we  will  not 
quarrel.  Thou  wilt  tell  me  the  truth.  I  am  sure  that 
mv  wife  is  mistaken.      But  what  wouldst  thou  have  ?  all 


l66  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 

women  are  fools  or  mad.  Let  us  see,  now,  canst  thou 
lay  thy  hand  on  thy  heart  and  answer  me?" 

*'  Speak  !  speak  !  "  said  Grand-Louis  in  a  tone  which 
sounded  like  reckless  promise,  and  making  a  strong  effort 
to  compose  his  face  to  an  air  of  ease  and  indifference, 
very  remote  from  his  real  feelings  at  the  moment. 

*'Well,  then!  I  will  not  beat  about  the  bush,"  said 
the  farmer.  "  Art  thou  or  art  thou  not  in  love  with 
my  daughter  ?  " 

"  What  an  odd  question  ! "  answered  the  miller,  brazen- 
ing it  out.  '*  What  would  you  have  me  answer?  If  I 
say  yes,  it  looks  like  defying  you  ;  if  I  say  no,  it  looks 
like  rudeness  to  Mile.  Rose,  for  indeed  she  deserves  that 
I  should  be  in  love  with  her,  as  you  deserve  that  I  should 
pay  you  respect." 

"Thou  art  merry!  that  is  a  good  sign.  I  see  that 
thou  art  not  in  love." 

"  Stay,  stay  ! "  returned  Grand-Louis.  ''  I  did  not  say 
that.  I  say,  on  the  contrary,  that  every  one  is  of  neces- 
sity in  love  with  her,  because  she  is  beautiful  as  the 
morning ;  because  she  is  your  image  ;  because,  in  short, 
all  who  look  upon  her,  old  or  young,  rich  or  poor,  feel 
something  for  her,  without  well  knowing  whether  it  be 
the  pleasure  of  loving  her  or  the  mortification  of  not 
being  able  to  feel  free  to  do  so." 

"  He  has  wit  enough  for  thirty  thousand ! "  said  the 
farmer,  falling  back  in  his  chair  with  a  laugh  which 
nearly  broke  his  well-filled  waistcoat.  "  Thunder  crush 
me  if  I  do  not  wish  thou  wert  worth  one  hundred  thou- 
sand crowns  !  I  would  give  thee  my  daughter  in  prefer- 
ence to  any  other  ! " 

"I  believe  so  !  but  as  I  have  them  not,  you  would  not 
think  of  giving  her  to  me,  would  you?" 

"  No,  thunder  smash  me  !  but  after  all,  I  am  sorry  for 
it,  and  that  shows  thee  my  friendship." 

"  Many  thanks  —  you  are  too  kind  ! " 

"Ah !  thou  seest  my  jade  of  a  wife  has  taken  it  into 
her  head  that  thou  talkebt  of  it  to  Rose  I " 

"  Me  I "  said  the  miller,  and  this  time  with  the  accent 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT.  167 

of  truth,  "I  have  never  said  a  word  to  her  that  you 
might  not  have  heard." 

''I  am  sure  of  it.  Thou  hast  too  much  sense  not  to 
see  tliat  thou  canst  not  think  of  my  daughter,  and  that  I 
cannot  give  her  to  a  man  like  thee.  Not  that  I  despise 
thee,  fie  !  I  am  not  proud,  and  I  know  that  all  men  are 
equal  in  the  sight  of  the  law.  I  have  not  forgotten  that 
I  come  from  a  peasant  family,  and  that  when  my  father 
began  his  fortune,  which  he  so  unhappily  lost,  as  thou 
knowest,  he  was  no  greater  a  gentleman  than  thou,  for 
he,  too,  was  a  miller  !  but  in  these,  days  of  ours,  old  fellow, 
money  does  everything,  as  they  say,  and  since  I  have 
some,  and  thou  none,  we  cannot  deal  together." 

"  That  is  conclusive  and  peremptory,"  said  the  miller, 
with  bitter  gayety.  "It  is  just,  reasonable,  veritable, 
equitable,  and  salutary,  as  the  curate  says  in  his  preface." 

"  The  deuce  !  hear  now,  Grand-Louis,  everybody  does 
just  so.  Thou  Avho  art  rich  for  a  peasant,  thou  wouldst 
not  marry  little  Fanchon,  the  maid,  if  she  were  to  take  a 
fancy  to  thee  ?  " 

"No  ;  but  if  I  took  a  fancy  to  her,  it  would  make  a 
difference." 

"Dost  thou  mean  by  that,  thou  great  rogue,  that  my 
daughter  might  have  one  for  thee?" 

"When  did  I  say  such  a  thing?" 

"  I  do  not  say  thou  didst,  though  my  wife  insists  that 
thou  art  capable  of  speaking  too  freely  if  thou  art  per- 
mitted such  familiarity  at  our  house." 

"  Come  now,  M.  Bricolin,"  said  Grand-Louis,  begin- 
ning to  lose  patience,  and  finding  his  actual  sentence  cruel 
enough  without  the  addition  of  insult,  "  are  you  saying 
all  this  to  me  for  the  last  five  minutes  in  fun,  for  a 
joke,  or  are  you  talking  seriously?  I  have  not  asked 
you  for  your  daughter,  and  I  do  not  see  why  you  should 
take  the  pains  to  refuse  her  to  me.  I  am  not  the  man  to 
speak  of  her  without  respect,  and  1  do  not  see  why  you 
should  report  to  me  Mme.  Bricolin's  disagreeable  sayings 
about  me.  If  you  mean  to  tell  me  to  go,  I  am  all  ready. 
If  it  is  to  withdraw  your  custom,  I  have  no  objection,  I 
have  enough  more.     But  speak  out,  and  let  us  act  like 


1 68  THE  MILLER    OF  ANGIDAULT. 

honest  people,  for  I  confess  to  you  that  all  this  looks  to 
me  like  seekin<^  an  ugly  quarrel  with  me,  as  if  some  peo- 
ple here  wanted  to  put  me  in  the  wrong  to  cover  their 
own  fault." 

So  speaking,  Grand-Louis  rose,  and  made  as  if  he 
would  depart.  It  was  neither  M.  Bricolin's  desire  nor 
interest  to  quarrel  with  him. 

"What  art  thou  talking  about,  great  simpleton?" 
replied  he  in  a  friendly  tone,  forcing  him  to  reseat  him- 
self. "Art  thou  mad?  What  fly  hath  stung  thee? 
Was  I  speaking  seriously  ?  Or  do  I  mind  my  wife's  non- 
sense ?  As  a  general  rule,  a  wasp  buzzing  in  your  ear, 
and  a  teasing,  contradictious  woman,  are  about  the  same 
thing.  Let  us  finish  our  flagon,  and  remain  friends, 
credit  me,  Grand-Louis.  My  custom  is  a  good  one,  and 
I  congratulate  myself  on  having  given  it  to  thee.  There 
are  many  little  services  we  can  mutually  render  one  an- 
other, and  it  would  be  very  stupid  to  quarrel  for  nothing. 
I  know  that  thou  art  a  bright,  sensible  lad,  and  canst  not 
talk  foolishly  to  my  daughter.  Besides,  I  think  too  well 
of  her  not  to  suppose  that  she  would  know  how  to  answer 
thee  if  thou  wert  to  fail  in  respect.     So  —  " 

"  So,  so  1 "  said  Grand-Louis,  striking  his  glass  on  the 
table  with  an  emphatic  impulse  of  anger,  "  the  long  and 
short  of  it  is,  that  all  your  reasons  are  needless,  M. 
Bricolin,  and  grow  tiresome  to  me.  The  devil  take  your 
custom,  your  little  services,  and  my  interests,  if  I  must 
hear  it  even  supposed  that  I  could  be  wanting  in  respect 
to  your  daughter,  and  that  some  day  or  other  she  should 
have  to  remind  me  of  my  place.  I  am  only  a  peasant, 
but  I  am  as  proud  as  you,  M.  Bricolin,  with  your  good 
leave  ;  and  if  you  can  find  no  more  delicate  mode  of  ex- 
pressing yourself  toward  me,  let  me  bid  you  good-day 
and  go  about  my  business." 

M.  Bricolin  had  much  trouble  in  calming  Grand-Louis, 
who  was  deeply  irritated,  not  at  the  suspicions  of  the 
farmer's  wife,  which  he  knew  were  in  a  certain  degree 
merited,  nor  at  Bricolin's  coarse  manner,  to  which  he 
was  well  accustomed,  but  at  the  cruelty  with  which  the 
latter  unconsciously  tore  open  his  heart's  bleeding  wounds. 


THE  MILLER    OF  ANGIBAULT.  169 

He  was  at  length  appeased  by  an  amende,  honorable  from 
the  farmer,  who  had  his  reasons  for  showing  himself 
very  peaceable,  and  for  not  attending  to  his  wife's  fears, 
at  least  for  the  moment. 

"  So,  then  !"  said  he,  inviting  him  to  begin  upon  a  new 
flagon  of  his  white  wine,  after  the  cheese,  "thou  art  great 
friends  with  our  young  lady  ?  " 

"  Great  friends  1 "  replied  the  miller  with  some  remain- 
ing vexation,  and  declining  to  drink,  notwithstanding  the 
urgency  of  his  host ;  "  that  is  as  reasonable  as  the  love 
of  which  you  forbid  me  to  speak  to  your  daughter !  " 

"  Faith  !  if  the  phrase  is  unsuitable,  it  is  none  of  my 
invention  ;  she  herself  said  several  times  yesterday  (which 
made  Thibaude  furious  !),  that  she  had  a  great  friendship 
for  thee.  Lord !  Grand-Louis,  everybody  knows  thou 
art  a  handsome  fellow,  and  they  say  that  great  ladies  — 
What !  art  thou  going  to  storm  again  }  " 

"  My  opinion  is  that  you  have  a  stoup  too  much  in  your 
head  this  morning,  M.  Bricolin !  "  said  the  miller,  pale 
with  indignation. 

Never  had  he  been  so  much  disgusted  with  Bricolin's 
hard  vulgarity,  which  heretofore  he  had  taken  as  a  mat- 
ter of  course. 

"  And  I  believe,"  returned  the  former,  *'  that  thou  hast 
turned  thy  mill  race  into  thy  stomach  this  morning,  for 
thou  art  as  dull  and  captious  as  a  water-drinker.  Is  there 
no  fuu  to  be  had  with  thee  just  now?  That  is  something 
new.  Well  then,  let  us  talk  seriously,  if  thou  wilt.  It  is 
certain  that,  in  one  way  or  another,  thou  hast  acquired  the 
esteem  and  confidence  of  the  lady,  and  that  she  commissions 
thee  with  her  errands  without  speaking  of  it  to  anybody." 

"  I  do  not  know  what  you  mean." 

"  Why,  thou  goest  to  *  *  *  for  her,  thou  bringest  her 
her  baggage  and  her  money !  —  for  Chounette  saw  thee 
give  her  a  large  bag  of  money !  In  short,  thou  seest  to 
her  affairs." 

"  As  you  will.  I  know  that  I  attend  to  mine,  and  that, 
on  the  same  occasion,  I  brought  her  trunks  and  purse 
from  the  inn  where  she  left  them  ;  if  that  is  to  see  to  her 
affairs,  well  and  good.  I  am  content  —  " 


170 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT, 


"Then  what  was  in  the  bag?     Gold  or  silver?" 

"  How  should  I  know  !  I  did  not  look  in  it." 

"  It  would  have  cost  thee  nothing,  and  done  her  no 
harm." 

"  You  ought  to  have  told  me  that  you  were  interested 
in  it ;  I  did  not  guess  it !  " 

"  Listen,  Grand-Louis,  my  lad  !  Be  frank  !  This  lady 
has  talked  with  thee  about  her  business  ?  " 

"Where  do  you  learn  that?" 

"  I  learn  it  there  I "  said  the  farmer,  pointing  with  his 
forefinger  to  his  narrow  and  sunburned  forehead.  "  I 
smell  an  odor  of  secrecies  and  concealments  in  the  air. 
The  lady  seems  to  distrust  me  and  consult  thee !  " 

"  And  if  she  did  ?  "  replied  Grand-Louis,  looking  fix- 
edly at  Bricolin,  with  some  intention  of  braving  him. 

"  If  it  were  so,  Grand-Louis,  I  do  not  think  thou 
would st  be  unfavorable  to  me  ?  " 

"  How  do  you  understand  that?  " 

"  As  thou  very  well  understandest  it  thyself.  I  have 
always  placed  confidence  in  thee,  and  thou  wouldst  not 
abuse  it.  Thou  knowest  that  I  have  a  desire  for  the  es- 
*-ate,  and  that  I  do  not  wish  to  pay  too  dear  for  it?" 

"  I  know  that  you  do  not  wish  to  pay  her  price." 

"  Her  price  !  her  price  !  that  depends  on  the  position 
of  the  parties.  What  would  be  ill  sold  for  another,  will 
be  happily  sold  for  her,  for  she  had  best  get  quickly  out 
of  the  trough  in  which  her  husband  has  left  her." 

"  I  know  that,  Monsieur  Bricolin,  I  have  your  notions 
about  it,  and  your  ambition,  all  at  my  fingers'  ends.  You 
wish  to  beat  down  the  dame  venderesse,  as  the  lawyers 
would  say,  by  fifty  thousand  francs." 

"  No,  not  beat  her  down  at  all !  I  have  been  fair  and 
above  board  with  her.  I  told  her  what  her  property  was 
worth.  Only,  I  told  her  that  I  would  not  pay  all  its 
value,  and  ten  thousand  million  thunders  crush  me  if  I 
will,  or  can  offer  a  farthing  more." 

"  You  spoke  differently  to  me,  not  so  very  long  ago ! 
You  told  me  that  you  could  pay  her  price,  and  that  if  it 
wei-e  absolutely  necessary  to  go  beyond  —  " 

"  Thou  ravest !  I  never  said  so  1 " 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 


17] 


"  Pardon  me  !  just  remember  !  It  was  at  the  Cluis 
Fair,  by  token  that  M.  Gronard,  the  mayor,  was  there/* 

"He  cannot  testify,  he  is  dead  !  " 

"But  I,  I  could  swear  to  it !  " 

"Thou  wilt  not  do  it?" 

"  That  depends." 

"On  what?" 

"  On  you." 

"How  so?" 

"  The  treatment  that  I  receive  in  your  house  will  reg- 
ulate my  conduct,  M.  Bricolin.  I  am  tired  of  your 
dame's  rudeness,  and  of  the  affronts  she  puts  upon  me. 
I  know  that  more  are  in  reserve,  that  your  daughter  is 
forbidden  to  speak  to  me,  to  dance  with  me,  to  come  to 
my  mill  to  see  her  nurse,  and  I  have  all  sorts  of  vexations 
of  which  I  would  not  complain  if  I  had  deserved  them, 
but  which  are  insulting,  as  I  have  not." 

"  How,  is  that  all,  Grand-Louis?  and  a  pretty  present, 
a  note  of  five  hundred  francs,  for  instance,  would  not  be 
more  agreeable  to  thee  ?  " 

"  No,  sir  !  "  dryly  answered  the  miller. 

"Thou  art  a  simpleton,  my  lad;  five  hundred  francs 
iu  an  honest  man's  pocket  is  worth  more  than  a  bourree 
in  the  dust.  Thou  makest  a  point,  then,  of  dancing  with 
my  daughter  ?  " 

"It  concerns  my  honor,  M.  Bricolin.  I  have  always 
danced  the  bourree  with  her  before  everybody.  No  one 
thought  it  amiss,  and  if  I  should  now  receive  the  affront 
of  a  refusal  from  her,  everybody  would  think  your  wife's 
stories  about  my  rudeness  and  ill  manners  true.  I  will 
not  be  so  treated.  It  is  for  you  to  decide  whether  you 
choose  to  provoke  me  or  no." 

"  Dance  with  Rose,  my  boy,  dance  away !"  cried  the 
farmer  with  joy,  mingled  with  deep  roguery  ;  "  dance  as 
much  as  thou  wilt !  if  it  needs  but  that  to  please  thee  !  " 

"  Well,  we  shall  see,"  thought  the  miller,  satisfied  with 
his  revenge.  "  The  lady  of  Blanchemont  is  coming  this 
way,"  said  he.  "  Your  wife,  with  her  uproar,  gave  me 
no  time  to  render  account  of  my  errands  to  her.  If  she 
speaks  to  me  of  her  affairs.  I  will  tell  you  her  intentions." 


172 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 


"I  leave  thee  with  her,"  said  M.  Bricolin,  risiug, 
"  Do  not  forget  that  thou  canst  influence  her  intentions  ! 
Business  annoys  her,  and  she  is  in  haste  to  conclude  it. 
Make  her  understand  that  I  am  immovable  —  I  will  go  to 
Thibaude,  and  lesson  her  in  what  concerns  thee." 

"  Double  rascal ! "  said  Grand-Louis  to  himself,  as  the 
farmer  heavily  hastened  away.  "Reckoning  on  me  for 
an  accomplice  !  Oh  ho  !  just  for  having  thought  me  cap- 
able of  it,  I  hope  it  may  cost  thee  fifty  thousand  franca 
and  twenty  thousand  to  boot  1 " 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT.  173 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

THE    MILL-BOY. 

IV/TY  dear  lady,"  said  the  miller  hastily,  as  he  heard 
-^'-*-  Rose  following  Marcelle,  "  I  have  a  hundred  things 
to  say  to  you,  but  I  cannot  say  them  all  in  a  minute ! 
Here,  besides  (I  do  not  speak  of  Mile.  Rose),  the  walls 
have  very  long  ears,  and  if  I  go  to  walk  alone  with  you, 
that  will  raise  suspicion  upon  certain  affairs  —  In  short,  I 
must  speak  with  you  ;  how  can  it  be  done  ?  " 

"  There  is  a  very  simple  way,"  answered  Mme.  de 
Blanchemont.  "  I  will  go  to  walk  to-day,  and  I  can 
easily  find  the  way  to  Angibault." 

"  Besides,  if  Mademoiselle  Rose  would  show  it  to  you," 
said  Grand-Louis,  at  the  moment  that  Rose  entered,  and 
heard  Marcelle's  last  words  —  "  If  so  be,"  he  added, 
*'  that  she  is  not  too  augry  with  me  —  " 

"  Oh  !  you  great  blunderer  !  you  have  earned  me  a  fine 
scolding  from  my  mother!"  replied  Rose.  "She  has 
said  nothing  to  me  yet,  but  with  her  what  is  delayed  is 
not  lost." 

"  No,  Mademoiselle  Rose ;  no,  fear  nothing.  Your 
mamma  will  not  say  a  word  this  time,  thank  heaven  !  I 
have  justified  myself;  your  papa  has  forgiven  me,  and  un- 
dertaken to  pacify  Mme.  Bricolin  ;  and  provided  that  you 
bear  me  no  grudge  for  my  stupidity  —  " 

"Do  not  let  us  speak  of  that,"  said  Rose,  blushing- 
"  I  am  not  angry  with  you,  Grand-Louis.  Only  you  need 
not  have  shouted  your  explanation  so  loud  as  you  went 
out.      You  waked  me  in  a  fright  J'^ 

"  You  were  asleep,  then?     I  did  not  think  so." 

"  Come,  you  were  not  asleep,  little  cheat,"  said  Mar- 
celle, "  for  you  drew  your  curtains  furiously." 


74 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 


*'  I  was  half  asleep,"  said  Rose,  trying  to  hide  her  em- 
barrassment under  an  air  of  vexation. 

*'  The  plainest  thing  about  it,"  said  the  miller,  with 
honest  distress,  *'is,  that  she  is  angry  with  me." 

*'  No,  Louis,  I  pardon  thee,  since  thou  didst  not  know 
I  was  there,"  said  Rose,  who  had  been  too  long  in  the 
habit  of  saying  thee  and  thou  to  Grand-Louis,  her  old 
playmate,  not  to  relapse  into  it,  either  through  forgetful- 
ness  or  of  purpose.  She  well  knew  that  a  single  word 
from  her  lips,  accompanied  by  this  delicious  thou^  would 
change  all  the  melancholy  of  her  lover  into  overflowing 
joy. 

"'  And  yet,"  said  the  miller,  whose  eyes  shone  with 
pleasure,  ''you  will  not  come  to  the  mill  to-day  with 
Mme.  Marcelle  ?  " 

"  How  can  I,  Grand-Louis,  when  mamma  has  forbidden 
me  —  I  know  not  why  ?  " 

"  Your  papa  will  permit  you.  I  complained  to  him  of 
Mme.  Bricolin's  harshness  ;  he  disapproves  it,  and  has 
promised  me  to  remove  the  prejudices  she  has  against  me 
—  I  do  not  know  why,  either." 

"Ah  !  so  much  the  better,  if  that  is  the  case,"  cried 
Rose,  openly  ;  "  we  will  go  on  horseback,  will  we  not, 
Madame  Marcelle  ?  You  shall  ride  my  little  mare,  and 
1  will  take  papa's  nag ;  he  is  very  gentle,  and  goes  very 
quick,  too." 

"  And  me,"  said  Edward  ;  "  I  want  to  ride  on  ahorse 
too." 

"  That  is  more  difficult,"  replied  Marcelle.  "  I  should 
not  dare  to  take  thee  behind  me,  my  darling."  i^ 

"  Nor  I  neither,"  said  Rose  ;  "  our  horses  are  rather 
too  lively." 

"  Oh  !  I  want  to  go  to  Angibault  too  !  "  cried  the  child. 
"  Mamma,  take  me  to  the  mill !  " 

"It  is  too  far  for  your  little  legs,"  said  the  miller ; 
"  but  I  will  take  charge  of  you,  if  your  mamma  is  will- 
ing. We  will  go  first  in  my  cart,  and  we  will  go  and  see 
the  cows  milked,  so  that  these  ladies  may  find  cream  when 
they  come." 

"  You  may  safely  trust  him  with  him,"  said  Rose  to 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 


^1S 


Marcelle.  "  He  is  so  good  with  children !  I  know 
something  of  that  myself." 

"  Oh,  you  !  you  were  so  pretty !  "  said  the  miller,  quite 
melted ;  "  you  should  always  have  stayed  as  you  were 
then." 

"  Much  obliged  for  the  compliment,  Grand-Louis  !  " 

"  I  do  not  mean  that  you  are  no  longer  pretty,  but 
that  you  should  never  have  grown  up.  You  loved  me  so 
well  in  those  days  !  You  could  not  leave  me  —  always 
hanging  round  my  neck  !  " 

"  That  would  have  been  a  pleasant  habit  to  preserve  ! " 
said  Rose,  half  annoyed,  half  amused. 

"  Well,"  resumed  the  miller,  turning  to  Marcelle, 
"  then  may  I  take  the  little  one  ?  " 

"  I  trust  him  to  you  with  entire  security,"  said  Mme. 
de  Blanchemont,  giving  her  boy  into  his  arms. 

"■  Ah  !  how  good  !  "  cried  the  child.  "  Alochon,  thou 
wilt  hold  me  up  in  thy  arms,  and  let  me  pick  the  black 
plums  from  the  trees  along  the  road  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  lord,"  said  the  miller,  laughing,  "if  you  will 
promise  not  to  let  them  fall  upon  my  nose." 

Grand-Louis  was  approaching  his  mill,  jogging  on,  and 
playing  in  his  cart  with  Edward,  who  made  his  heart  throb 
by  recalling  to  him  the  childish  charms,  caresses,  and  freaks 
of  Rose,  when  he  spied  Henri  Lemor  coming  to  meet  him 
through  the  meadow.  The  latter,  however,  on  recogniz- 
ing Edward  beside  the  miller,  turned  instantly,  and  rushed 
into  the  house  to  conceal  himself. 

'"  Take  Sophie  to  the  field,"  said  Grand-Louis  to  his 
mill-boy, 'stopping  at  some  distance  from  the  door.  "And 
you,  mother,  amuse  this  child  for  me.  Keep  him  like  the 
apple  of  your  eye  ;  as  for  me,  I  have  a  word  to  say  at  the 
mill." 

He  then  hurried  to  Lemor,  who  had  shut  himself  up  in 
his  chamber,  and  who  opened  the  door  cautiously,  saying  ; 
"  This  child  knows  me.  I  was  obliged  to  keep  out  of  his 
sight." 

"  And  who  the  devil  could  have  guessed  you  were  still 
here?"  said  the  miller,  scarcely  able  to  recover  from 
his  surprise.     "  I  bade  you  farewell  this  morning,  and 


176  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 

thought  you  already  setting  sail  for  Africa  I  What  wan- 
dering kuight,  or  troubled  spirit,  are  you,  then  ?  " 

"  I  am  indeed  a  troubled  spirit,  my  friend.  Have  com- 
passion on  me.  I  went  a  league  ;  I  sat  down  on  the  brink 
of  a  fountain  ;  I  dreamed,  I  wept,  and  I  returned.  I 
cannot  go ! " 

"  Come,  now,  that  makes  me  love  you ! "  cried  the 
miller,  heartily  shaking  his  hand.  "  That  is  the  way  I 
have  been  more  than  an  hundred  times.  Yes,  more  than 
an  hundred  times  I  have  left  Blancheroont,  swearing  that  I 
would  never  set  foot  there  again,  and  there  was  always 
some  fountain  by  the  way,  where  I  sat  down  to  weep,  and 
which  had  the  virtue  of  sending  me  back  whence  I  came. 
But  hearken,  my  lad,  you  must  be  on  your  guard  !  I  am 
glad  to  have  you  stay  with  us  as  long  as  you  cannot  de- 
cide to  be  off.  I  foresee  that  it  will  be  some  time.  All 
the  better  —  I  like  you  ;  I  wanted  to  keep  you  this  morn- 
ing ;  you  return  —  I  am  glad  of  it,  and  thank  you.  But 
you  must  go  away  for  a  few  hours.  They  are  coming 
here." 

"Both?"  cried  Lemor,  understanding  Grand-Louis  at 
half  a  word. 

"  Yes,  both.  I  have  not  been  able  to  say  a  word  about 
you  to  Mme.  de  Blanchemont.  She  is  coming  to  give  mo 
an  opportunity  to  speak  to  her  of  her  business  affairs,  not 
knowing  that  I  have  heart  affairs,  too,  to  speak  of.  I  do 
not  wish  that  she  should  know  you  are  here,  till  I  am 
quite  sure  she  will  not  scold  me  for  having  brought  you. 
Besides,  I  do  not  wish  to  surprise  her,  especially  before 
Rose,  who  doubtless  knows  nothing  of  all  this.  So  hide 
yourself.  They  asked  for  their  horses  as  I  came  away. 
They  will  have  breakfasted  as  fair  ladies  breakfast,  that 
is,  like  linnets  ;  their  beasts  are  not  slow-limbed ;  they 
may  be  here  at  any  moment.'* 

"  I  go  —  I  fly  !  "  said  Lemor,  all  pale  and  trembling  ; 
*'  ah  !  my  friend,  she  will  be  here  !  " 

"  I  understand  !  your  heart  bleeds  not  to  see  her  !  It 
is  hard,  I  confess!  If  one  could  be  sure  of  you  —  if 
you  could  swear  not  to  show  yourself,  not  to  stir  hand  or 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 


^n 


foot  all  the  while  they  are  here  —  I  could  secrete  you  in 
a  place  where  you  could  see  her  without  being  observed.'* 

"  Oh  !  dear  Grand-Louis,  my  excellent  friend,  I  prom- 
ise !  I  swear !  Hide  me,  were  it  beneath  your  mill- 
stone !  '* 

''•  The  deuce  !  that  would  hardly  do  !  Grand'-Louise's 
bones  are  harder  than  yours.  I  will  stow  you  more 
softly.  You  shall  climb  into  my  hay-loft,  and  through 
the  hole  in  the  skylight  you  can  see  the  ladies  pass  to 
and  fro.  I  am  not  sorry  to  have  you  see  Rose  Bricolin 
—  you  shall  tell  me  if  you  have  known  many  prettier 
duchesses  at  Paris.  But  stay  till  I  go  and  see  what  is 
going  on." 

Grand-Louis  went  to  a  spot  at  a  little  distance  which 
commanded  a  view  of  the  towers  of  Blanchemont,  and 
of  nearly  all  the  road  leading  there,  and  when  assured 
that  the  two  equestrians  were  not  yet  in  sight,  he  re- 
turned to  his  prisoner. 

"  Now,  comrade,"  said  he,  "  here  is  a  sixpenny  look- 
ing-glass and  a  real  miller's  razor,  and  you  will  please 
part  with  that  goat's  beard  of  yours.  It  is  out  of  place 
in  a  mill.  It  is  a  mere  flour-nest.  And  then,  if  you 
should  unluckily  show  the  end  of  your  nose,  the  change 
would  make  it  less  easy  to  recognize  you." 

"You  are  right,"  replied  Leoior,  "and  I  hasten  to 
obey." 

"  Do  you  know,"  resumed  the  miller,  "  that  I  have  an 
idea  in  making  you  shear  that  black  fleece  ?  " 

"What?" 

"  I  have  just  thought  of  it,  and  this  is  what  I  have  de- 
cided :  you  shall  stay  with  me  till  you  have  determined 
to  cause  no  more  pain  to  my  dear  lady,  and  to  change 
your  foolish  notions  about  fortune.  Even  if  you  should 
stay  only  a  few  days,  no  one  need  know  who  you  are, 
and  your  beard  gives  you  a  city  look,  which  draws  atten- 
tion. I  told  my  good  mother  at  random  last  night  that 
you  were  a  surveyor.  It  was  the  first  lie  that  occurred 
to  me,  and  it  was  nonsense.  However,  she  never  won- 
ders, and  will  think  it  very  natural  that  you  should  have 


178  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 

loft  surveying  for  mechanics.  So  you  shall  be  a  miller, 
my  dear  fellow ;  that  suits  you  better.  You  will  busy 
yourself,  or  pretend  to  busy  yourself,  with  the  mill.  You 
certainly  know  something  about  part  of  it,  and  you  will 
be  considered  as  advising  me  about  setting  a  new  mill- 
stone. You  will  be  a  useful  person  whom  I  met  in 
town.  In  this  way,  nobody  will  be  astonished  at  your 
presence  here.  I  am  clerk ;  I  answer  for  you  ;  no  one 
will  ask  to  see  your  passport.  The  garde-champetre  is 
rather  inquisitive  and  prating.  But  a  pint  or  two  of 
wine  silences  his  tongue.  This  is  my  plan.  You  must 
conform  to  it,  or  I  abandon  you." 

'*  I  submit,  I  will  be  your  mill-boy,  I  will  hide  my- 
self, provided  I  do  not  go  without  seeing  her  again,  were 
it  only  from  here  and  for  an  instant  —  " 

''Hush!  I  hear  iron  on  the  flints  —  trie  trie,  that  is 
Mile.  Rose's  black  mare  —  trac  trac^  that  is  M.  Bric- 
olin's  gray  nag.  You  have  shaved  enough,  washed 
enough,  and  I  assure  you  you  look  an  hundred  times 
better  for  it.  Run  to  the  loft  and  turn  the  shutter  of  the 
skylight  upon  yourself.  You  can  look  through  the 
crack.  If  my  boy  comes  up,  make  believe  sleep.  The 
country  people  often  give  themselves  the  easement  of  a 
siesta  in  the  hay,  and  it  seems  to  them  a  more  Christian 
occupation  than  solitary  reflection  with  arms  folded  and 
eyes  open.  Adieu  !  there  is  Mile.  Rose.  See,  the  fore- 
most one  !  See  how  lightly  she  trots,  and  with  such  a 
decided  air !  " 

"Beautiful  as  an  angel  I "  said  Lemor,  who  had 
looked  only  at  Marcelle. 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT.  179 


CHAPTER     XXII. 

BY   THE   WATER-SIDE. 

GRAND-LOUIS,  who  was  full  of  the  thoughtful  atten- 
tions inspired  by  true  affection,  had  given  orders,  in 
passing,  that  the  collation  of  milk  and  fruit  should  be 
served  under  a  trellis  in  front  of  his  door,  just  opposite 
and  very  near  the  mill,  whence  Lemor,  crouched  in  his 
loft,  could  see  and  even  hear  Marcelle. 

The  rustic  repast  was  very  merry,  thanks  to  Edward's 
frolicsome  familiarity  with  the  miller,  and  Rose's  charm- 
ing coquetry  towards  him.  "Take  care,  Rose  !  "  whis- 
pered Mme.  de  Blanchemont  to  the  young  girl.  "You 
are  making  yourself  enchanting  to-day,  and  you  must 
see  that  you  are  turning  his  head.  It  seems  to  me  either 
that  you  make  light  of  my  lectures,  or  that  you  are  going 
too  far." 

Rose  was  disturbed,  remained  a  moment  thoughtful, 
but  soon  renewed  her  lively  enticements,  as  if  internally 
resolved  to  accept  the  love  she  provoked.  There  had 
always  been  at  the  bottom  of  her  heart  a  strong  friend- 
ship for  Grand-Louis,  which  made  it  very  improbable 
that  she  would  amuse  herself  by  laughing  at  him,  unless 
she  felt  the  secret  possibility  of  a  great  advance  in  this 
fraternal  affection.  The  miller,  without  wishing  to  flat- 
ter himself,  still  felt  an  instinctive  confidence  in  her,  and 
his  loyal  soul  told  him  that  she  was  too  good  and  pure 
coldly  to  torture  him. 

Thus  he  was  happy  in  seeing  her  so  cheerful  and  ani- 
mated at  his  side,  and  it  was  with  regret  that  he  left  her 
with  his  mother,  the  last  at  table.  But  he  had  seen 
Marcelle  slip  away  and  make  him  a  private  signal  to  fol- 
low her  to  the  other  side  of  the  river. 


i8o  THB  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT, 

"Well,  dear  Grand-Louis,"  said  Mme.  de  Blanche* 
mont,  "  it  seems  to  me  that  you  are  no  longer  so  sad  as 
you  were  the  other  day,  and  that  I  have  guessed  the 
reason ! " 

"  Ah !  Mme.  Marcelle,  you  know  all,  I  see  plainly, 
and  have  nothing  to  learn  from  me.  It  is  you,  rather, 
who  can  tell  me  more  than  I  know ;  for  it  appears  to 
me  that  great  confidence  should  be  and  is  placed  in  you." 

"  I  will  not  compromise  Rose,"  said  Mme.  de  Blanche- 
mont,  smiling.  "  Women  ought  not  to  betray  one 
another.  Still,  I  think  I  may  hope,  with  you,  that  you 
will  not  find  it  impossible  to  make  yourself  beloved." 

"  Ah !  if  I  were  loved,  I  should  be  satisfied,  and  I 
think  I  should  ask  no  more  ;  for  the  day  that  she  told  me 
so,  I  should  be  ready  to  die  with  joy  !  " 

"  My  friend,  your  love  is  noble  and  sincere,  and  for 
that  reason  you  must  not  too  much  desire  to  have  it  rC" 
turned  before  thinking  how  to  remove  the  obstacles  on 
the  part  of  the  family.  I  presume  it  is  that  of  which 
you  wished  to  talk  with  me,  and  that  is  why  I  eagerly 
accepted  your  invitation.  Let  us  see  — time  is  precious  ; 
they  will  doubtless  soon  join  us  —  How  can  I  influence 
her  father's  mind,  as  Rose  gave  me  to  understand  that  I 
might?" 

"Rose  gave  you  to  understand  that?"  cried  the  miller, 
with  transport.  "Then  she  thinks  of  it?  She  loves 
me  ?  Ah  !  Mme.  Marcelle !  And  you  did  not  tell  me 
that  at  once !  Ah !  What  care  I  for  the  rest,  if  she 
loves  me,  if  she  desires  to  marry  me  ! " 

"Softly,  my  friend.  Rose  has  not  gone  so  far.  She 
has  a  sisterly  affection  for  you,  she  desired  the  revocation 
of  the  sentence  which  prohibited  her  from  speaking  to 
you,  or  coming  to  your  house,  or  treating  you,  in  short, 
as  a  friend,  as  she  has  always  done  till  now.  This  is 
why  she  has  begged  me  to  stand  your  friend  with  her 
parents,  and  to  take  your  part,  while  showing  some  firm- 
ness in  my  dealings  with  them.  And  this  beside,  I  have 
understood,  Grand-Louis ;  M.  Bricolin  wants  my  estate 
cheap,  and  it  might  be  that  if  Rose  loved  you,  I  could 


THE  MILLER    OF  ANGIBAULT.  i8l 

insure  her  happiness  and  yours  by  imposing  your  mar- 
riage as  a  condition  of  my  consent.  It'  you  think  so,  do 
not  doubt  that  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  make  the  slight 
sacrifice." 

"  Slight  sacrifice  !  You  do  not  consider  it,  Mme.  Mar- 
celle !  you  think  yourself  still  rich ;  you  talk  of  fifty 
thousand  francs  as  of  nothing.  You  forget  that  it  is 
henceforth  a  good  part  of  your  living.  And  do  you  be- 
lieve I  would  accept  such  a  sacrifice  ?  Oh  !  I  had  rather 
renounce  Rose  at  once." 

"  You  do  not  comprehend  the  true  value  of  money,  my 
friend  :  it  is  only  a  means  of  happiness  ;  and  the  happi- 
ness one  can  procure  for  others  is  the  purest  and  most 
certain  that  one  can  procure  for  one's  self." 

"  You  are  good  as  God,  poor  lady !  but  there  is  in 
this  case  a  happiness  still  purer,  and  more  certain  than 
your  own.  It  is  that  which  you  must  provide  for  your 
son.  And  what  would  you  say  if  some  day  —  great  God  ! 
—  for  want  of  the  fifty  thousand  francs  you  had  sacrificed 
for  your  friends,  your  dear  Edward  were  forced  in  his 
turn  to  renounce  a  woman  whom  he  loved,  and  whose 
hand  you  could  not  obtain  for  him  ?  " 

"  Your  arguments  are  good,  and  touch  my  heart ;  but 
on  the  subject  of  worldly  interests  we  can  make  no  abso- 
lute calculations  for  the  future.  My  situation  is  not  so 
rigidly  defined  as  you  make  it ;  by  persisting  in  selling  at 
a  high  price  I  shall  lose  time,  and  you  know  each  day  of 
hesitation  precipitates  my  ruin.  By  closing  the  bargain 
quickly  I  free  myself  from  these  gnawing  debts,  and  cer- 
tainly I  may  some  day  find  it  clear  profit  to  have  taken 
my  course  without  puerile  regret  or  misplaced  parsimony. 
Thus  you  see  that  I  am  not  so  very  generous,  and  that  I 
act  for  my  own  interest  while  serving  your  love." 

"A  poor  head  for  business  !  "  cried  the  miller,  with  a 
sad  and  tender  smile.  "A  saint  of  Paradise  could  not 
talk  better.  But  it  is  not  common  sense,  permit  me  to 
say,  my  dear  lady.  You  will  find  purchasers  for  your 
property  within  a  fortnight,  who  will  be  well  pleased  to 
pay  no  more  than  its  price  for  it." 

"  But  who  will  not  be  solvent,  like  M.  Bricolin?  " 


lS2  THE  MILLER    OF  ANGIBAULT. 

"  Ah,  yes  !  that  is  his  pride  !  bein^ solvent.  Solvent! 
a  great  word !  He  thinks  himself  the  only  man  in  the 
world  who  can  say,  '  I  am  solvent  !*  That  is,  he  knows 
very  well  that  there  are  others,  but  he  dazzles  you  with 
the  word.  Do  not  heed  him  ;  he  is  a  cunning  sharper. 
Only  pretend  to  make  a  bargain  with  another,  should  you 
even  go  so  far  as  to  make  proposals  and  mock  contracts. 
I  should  not  be  too  precise,  in  your  place.  Do  at  Rome 
as  the  Romans  do  ;  and  all  stratagems  are  fair  in  war  I 
Will  you  empower  me  to  act?  I  swear  to  you  that,  as 
sure  as  you  see  this  water,  in  a  fortnight  M.  Bricolin 
shall  give  you  your  three  hundred  thousand  francs,  fairly 
counted,  and  a  good  stoup  of  wine  to  boot." 

"  I  should  never  have  the  skill  to  follow  your  advice, 
and  it  seems  to  me  much  the  quicker  plan  to  make  each 
of  us  happy  in  our  own  way  —  you.  Rose,  me,  M.  Bric- 
oliu,  and  my  son,  who  will  some  day  be  glad  of  what  I 
have  done." 

"  Romance  !  romance  !  "  said  the  miller.  "  You  do 
not  know  what  your  son  will  think  fifteen  years  hence, 
about  love  and  money.  Do  not  commit  this  folly  ;  I  will 
not  lend  myself  to  it,  Mme.  Marcelle  —  no,  no,  do  not 
think  it.  I  am  as  proud  as  anybody,  and  obstinate  — as 
a  sheep,  and  wliat  is  more,  one  of  our  Berry  sheep.  Be- 
sides, hark  you !  it  would  be  sheer  loss.  M.  Bricolin 
would  promise  everything  and  perform  nothing.  Con- 
sidering your  position,  it  is  necessary  that  your  contract 
of  sale  be  signed  before  the  end  of  the  month,  and  cer- 
tainly I  could  not  hope  to  marry  Rose  within  a  month. 
To  bring  that  about,  she  would  need  to  be  madly  in  love 
with  me,  which  she  is  not.  And  then  I  could  never 
bring  myself  to  expose  her  to  the  tumult  and  scandal  it 
would  cause.  How  furious  her  mother  would  be  I 
What  amazement  and  what  slander  would  meet  her  from 
her  neighbors  and  acquaintances  !  What  would  not  be 
said  ?  Who  would  understand  that  you  had  demanded  it 
of  M.  Bricolin  through  pure  greatness  of  soul,  and  holy 
friendship  for  us?  You  do  not  know  how  malicious  men 
are  ;  and  as  to  women  —  if  you  only  knew  how  they  talk  ! 
Your    kindness    toward  me  —  no,  you   cannot   imagine, 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT.  i8- 

and  I  should  not  dure  tell  you  how  it  would  be  inter- 
preted, and  by  M.  Bricolin  first  of  all.  Or  else  they  would 
say  that  Rose  —  sweet,  innocent  creature  !  —  had  com- 
mitted an  error,  and  confided  it  to  you,  and  that  you,  to 
save  her  honor,  had  undertaken  to  dower  the  culprit.  In 
short,  it  cannot  be  ;  and  I  have  given  you  more  reasons 
than  I  hope  you  need,  to  be  convinced  of  it.  Oh,  that  is 
not  the  way  that  I  would  obtain  Rose  !  It  must  come 
naturally,  and  without  bringing  evil  tongues  upon  her.  I 
know  very  well  that  a  miracle  is  needed  to  make  me  rich, 
or  a  misfortune  to  render  her  poor.  God  will  come  to  my 
help,  if  she  love  me,  and  she  may,  perhaps,  come  to  love 
me  —  may  she  not  ?  '* 

"But,  my  friend,  I  cannot  try  to  warm  her  heart 
towards  you,  if  you  take  from  me  the  means  of  governing 
her  mercenary  father.  I  would  not  have  undertaken  it 
without  this  thought,  for  it  would  be  criminal  in  me  to 
hurry  this  young  and  lovely  girl  into  an  unhappy  passion." 

"Ah!  that  is  true!"  said  Grand-Louis,  suddenly 
overcome;  "  and  I  see  that  I  am  mad — and  indeed  it 
was  neither  of  myself  nor  of  Rose  that  I  wished  to  speak 
when  I  asked  you  to  come  here,  Mme.  Marcelle  ;  you 
deceived  yourself  in  your  excellent  goodness.  I  meant 
to  speak  to  you  of  yourself  alone,  when  you  forestalled 
me  by  speaking  of  me  ;  I  let  myself  listen  to  you,  like  a 
great  baby,  and  then  must  needs  reply  ;  but  I  return  to 
my  object,  which  is  to  oblige  you  to  busy  yourself  with 
your  affairs.  I  know  M.  Bricolin's  concerns,  his  inten- 
tions, and  his  eagerness  to  buy  your  estate.  He  will  not 
let  it  go  into  other  hands,  but  to  get  three  hundred  thou- 
sand francs  for  it,  you  must  ask  him  three  hundred  and 
fifty  thousand.  Only  hold  out,  and  you  will  have  it ; 
but,  at  any  rate,  he  must  not  pay  less  for  the  property 
than  it  is  worth.     Fear  nothing,  he  wants  it  too  much  !  " 

"  I  repeat  to  you,  my  friend,  that  I  could  not  sustain 
this  contest.  It  has  lasted  now  but  two  days,  and  is  al- 
ready beyond  my  strength." 

"  Therefore  you  must  have  nothing  to  do  with  it.  You 
can  put  your  business  into  the  hands  of  an  honest  and 
able  notary.     I  know  such  an  one.     I  will  speak  with 


184 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 


him  this  evening,  and  you  shall  see  him  to-morrow,  with- 
out any  trouble.  To-morrow  is  the  festival  of  the  patron 
saint  of  Blanchemont,  There  will  be  a  great  assembling 
on  the  terrace  in  front  of  the  church.  The  notary  will  be 
there  to  walk  about  and  talk,  as  is  his  custom,  with  his 
country  clients ;  you  shall  go  as  by  accident  into  a  house 
where  he  will  wait  for  you.  You  will  sign  a  power  of 
attorney,  say  two  words  to  him,  and  I  will  say  four,  and 
you  will  only  have  to  send  M.  Bricolin  to  battle  it  out 
with  him.  If  he  does  not  surrender,  during  this  time 
your  notary  will  find  you  another  purchaser.  Only  a 
little  prudence  is  needed  to  prevent  Bricolin  from  sus- 
pecting that  it  is  I  who  have  recommended  this  man  of 
business  to  you  instead  of  his  own,  whom  he  has  doubt- 
less proposed,  and  whom  you  may  have  had  the  rashijess 
to  accept !  '* 

"  No,  I  had  promised  you  to  do  nothing  without  your 
advice." 

"That is  very  fortunate  !  Go,  then,  to-morrow  at  two 
o'clock,  to  walk  on  the  bank  of  the  Vauvre,  as  if  to  see 
the  pretty  spectacle  of  the  fete  from  the  foot  of  the  ter- 
race. I  will  be  there,  and  will  show  the  way  to  a  sure 
and  discreet  person's  house." 

"  But,  my  friend,  if  M.  Bricolin  discovers  that  you 
guide  me  in  this  matter  contrary  to  his  interest,  he  will 
dismiss  you  from  his  house,  and  you  can  never  see  Rose 
again." 

"He  will  be  very  sharp  if  he  discovers  it!  But  if 
that  misfortune  should  happen  —  I  have  told  you,  Mme. 
Marcelle,  God  would  come  to  my  help  by  a  miracle,  so 
much  the  more  that  I  should  have  done  my  duty." 

"  Loyal  and  courageous  friend,  I  cannot  be  induced 
thus  to  expose  you  !  " 

"  And  do  I  not  owe  it  to  you,  when  you  wished  to  ruin 
yourself  for  me  ?  Come,  no  childishness,  my  dear  lady, 
we  are  quits  — " 

"  There  is  Rose  coming  toward  us,"  said  Marcelle. 
*'  I  have  scarcely  time  to  thank  you  —  " 

"  No !  Mile.  Rose  is  turning  down  the  avenue  with 
my  mother,  who  has  a  hint  to  keep  her  awhile,  for  I  have 


THE   MILLER    OF  ANGIBAULT.  185 

not  finished,  Mme.  Marcelle  ;  I  have  quite  another  thing 
to  tell  you !  But  you  must  be  tired  with  walking  so 
long.  Since  the  court  is  free  and  the  mill  quiet,  come 
and  sit  on  this  bench  by  the  door.  Mile.  Rose  thinks  us  on 
the  other  side,  and  will  not  return  till  she  has  been  round 
the  field.  What  I  have  to  say  to  you  is  more  interesting 
than  your  business,  and  requires  even  more  secrecy." 

Astonished  at  this  preamble,  Marcelle  followed  the 
miller,  and  sat  down  with  him  on  the  bench,  just  beneath 
the  door  of  the  hay-loft,  where  Lemor  could  see  and  hear 
her. 

"Well,  then,  Mme.  Marcelle,"  stammered  the  miller, 
somewhat  at  a  loss  how  to  enter  upon  the  subject,  '*  you 
know  the  letter  you  intrusted  to  me?" 

"  Well,  dear  Grand-Louis ! "  answered  Mme.  de 
Blanchemont,  her  calm  and  rather  wearied  face  suddenly 
flushing  ;  "  did  you  not  tell  me  this  morning  that  you  had 
sent  it?" 

"  Pardon  —  I  did  not  put  it  in  the  post." 

"You  forgot  it?" 

"  Oh,  no,  indeed." 

"Lost  it,  perhaps?" 

"  Still  less.  I  did  better  than  put  it  in  the  box,  I 
gave  it  directly  to  its  address." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?     It  was  addressed  to  Paris  I " 

"  Yes,  but  finding  the  person  for  whom  it  was  destined 
upon  my  road,  I  thought  I  should  do  better  to  hand  it  to 
him." 

"Oh,  heaven!  you  make  me  tremble,  Louis,"  said 
Marcelle,  turning  pale.  "  You  have  made  some  mis- 
take." 

"No  such  fool!  Perhaps  I  know  M.  Henri  Lemor 
very  well ! " 

"You  know  him?  and  he  is  in  this  part  of  the 
country?"  said  Marcelle,  without  endeavoring  to  dissem- 
ble her  emotion. 

In  a  few  words  Grand-Louis  explained  the  manner  in 
which  he  had  recognized  Lemor  for  the  traveller  who  had 
already  been  to  his  mill,  and  for  the  intended  recipient  of 
the  letter  confided  to  him. 


1 86  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 

"And  where  was  he  going?  and  what  was  he  doing 
at  ♦  *  *?"  asked  Mareelle,  with  anxiety. 

"  He  was  going  to  Africa.  He  was  passing  through," 
replied  the  miller,  who  wished  to  see  what  she  would 
say.  "It  is  the  direct  road  to  Toulouse.  He  had  taken 
the  breakfast  hour  of  the  diligence  to  go  to  the  post." 

"  And  where  is  he  now  ?  " 

"I  cannot  easily  tell  you  where  he  may  be  ;  but  he  is 
Qo  longer  at  ♦  *  *." 

"  He  was  going  to  Africa,  you  say  ?  And  why  so 
far?" 

"  Precisely  on  account  of  the  distance.  That  was  his 
answer  to  my  question." 

"  The  answer  is  plainer  than  you  think  ! "  said  Mar- 
eelle, with  increasing  agitation,  and  not  even  attempting 
to  render  it  less  evident.  "  My  friend,  you  are  not  so 
unfortunate  as  you  think !  There  are  hearts  more 
•rushed  than  yours." 

"Yours,  for  instance,  my  poor  dear  lady?" 

"  Yes,  my  friend,  mine." 

"  But  is  it  not  a  little  your  fault?  Why  did  you  com* 
mand  this  poor  young  man  to  remain  a  year  without 
hearing  of  you  ?  " 

"  How  !  did  he  show  you  my  letter?  " 

"  Oh,  no  !  he  was  suspicious  and  mysterious  enough  — 
go  to  !  But  I  so  questioned  him,  and  besieged  him,  and 
guessed  so  much,  that  he  was  forced  to  confess  that  I 
was  not  deceived.  Ah,  faith !  do  you  see,  Mme.  Mar- 
eelle, I  am  very  inquisitive  into  the  secrets  of  those  I 
love,  because,  while  one  does  not  know  what  they  think, 
one  does  not  know  how  to  serve  them.     Am  I  wrong?" 

"  No,  friend,  I  am  very  willing  that  you  should  have 
my  secrets  as  I  have  yours.  But,  alas !  whatever  be 
your  good  will  and  good  heart,  you  can  do  nothing  for 
me.  Yet  answer  me.  Did  this  young  man  send  no  an- 
swer, verbal  or  in  writing  ?  " 

"  He  wrote  you  this  morning  a  pile  of  trash,  which  I 
would  not  bring  you." 

"  You  have  done  me  an  ill  service.  So,  I  cannot 
know  his  intentions  ?  " 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT.  187 

"  All  he  could  say  was  this  —  'I  love  her,  hut  I  am 
courageous.' " 

"He  said  'hut?'*' 

"  He  may  have  said  '  and  !'  " 

"  That  would  be  so  different !     Think,  Grand-Louis.*' 

"  He  said  now  one,  and  then  the  other,  for  he  repeated 
it  often." 

"This  morning,  you  say?  Did  you  leave  the  town 
only  this  morning  ?  " 

"  I  meant  to  say  last  evening.  It  was  late,  and  we 
here  call  it  morning  from  midnight." 

"  Heaveus !  what  does  it  mean.?  Why  no  letter? 
Then  you  saw  that  he  wrote  one  ? " 

"  A  little  !  he  tore  up  four  ! " 

"But  what  was  in  those  letters?  Was  he,  then,  very 
irresolute  ?  " 

"  First  he  said  that  he  could  never  see  you  again,  then 
that  he  would  go  and  see  you  at  once." 

"And  he  resisted  this  last  temptation?  He  was,  in- 
deed, courageous ! " 

"  Ah  !  listen  now  !  He  was  worse  tempted  than  St. 
Anthony !  but  on  the  one  hand,  I  deterred  him ;  on  the 
other,  he  feared  to  disobey  you." 

"And  what  think  you  of  a  lover  who  knows  not  how 
to  disobey  ?  " 

"  I  think  that  he  loves  too  much,  and  will  get  small 
thanks  for  it." 

"I  am  unjust,  am  I  not,  dear  Grand-Louis?  I  am 
too  much  moved  ;  I  know  not  what  I  say.  But  why  did 
you,  friend,  deter  him  from  following  you  ?  For  he  did 
think  of  it?" 

"  I  should  think  he  did  !  He  even  came  a  part  of  the 
way  upon  my  cart.  But  I,  pardon  —  I  was  too  much 
afraid  of  displeasing  you." 

"  You  love,  and  you  think  others  so  severe?  " 

"  Faith  !  what  would  you  have  said  if  I  had  brought 
him  into  the  Black  Valley?  For  instance  —  at  this  mo- 
ment —  if  I  told  you  that  I  had  hidden  him  in  my  mill ! 
Ah  !  for  once,  you  would  treat  me  as  I  deserved  1 " 


l88  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT, 

"  Louis ! "  said  Marcelle,  rising  with  an  air  of  high 
resolve,  *'  he  is  here.     You  confess  it !  " 

"  Not  I,  madam  ;  it  is  you  who  make  me  say  so." 

"  My  friend,"  returned  she,  taking  his  hand  cordially, 
**  tell  me  where  he  is,  and  I  forgive  you." 

"And  if  it  were  so,"  said  the  miller,  a  little  fright- 
ened by  Marcelle's  impulsiveness,  but  enchanted  by  her 
frankness,  "  you  would  not  dread  gossiping  tongues?" 

*'  When  he  left  me  voluntarily,  and  my  spirit  was  de- 
pressed, I  could  think  of  the  world,  foresee  danger,  cre- 
ate rigid  and  perhaps  exaggerated  duties  for  myself; 
but  when  he  returns  to  me,  when  he  is  so  near,  what  do 
you  wish  me  to  think  of,  and  what  would  you  have  me 
fear?" 

"  Still  it  must  be  feared  lest  some  imprudence  on  your 
part  render  your  projects  more  difficult  to  carry  into  ex- 
ecution," said  Grand-Louis,  indicating  to  Marcelle,  by  a 
gesture,  the  window  above  her  head. 

Marcelle  raised  her  eyes  and  met  those  of  Lemor,  who, 
quivering,  and  leaning  towards  her,  was  ready  to  shorten 
the  distance  by  springing  from  the  height  of  the  roof. 

But  the  miller  coughed  with  all  his  might,  and  indi- 
cated to  the  two  lovers  by  another  gesture  that  Rose  was 
approacliing,  with  his  mother  and  little  Edward. 

"Yes,  madam,"  said  he,  raising  his  voice,  "a  mill 
like  this  brings  in  little ;  but  if  I  could  only  set  up  a 
great  millstone  that  I  have  in  my  mind,  it  would  bring 
me  easily  —  eight  hundred  francs  a  year  I " 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT.  i8q 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

CADOCHE. 

nPHE  glance  of  the  two  lovers  had  been  rapid  and 
■*-  burning.  A  sovereign  calm  succeeded  this  excite- 
ment. They  loved,  they  were  sure  of  each  other.  All 
was  said,  explained,  entreated  between  them  in  the  elec- 
tric passage  of  this  look.  Lemor  threw  himself  back  on 
the  floor  of  the  loft,  and  Marcelle,  mistress  of  herself 
through  her  great  happiness,  greeted  Rose  without  an- 
noyance or  regret.  She  allowed  herself  to  be  taken  into 
the  delightful  neighboring  coppice,  and,  after  an  hour's 
walk,  she  remounted  her  horse  with  her  companion,  and 
took  the  road  to  Blanchemont,  after  saying  in  a  low  voice 
to  the  miller  — 

"  Conceal  him  well,  I  will  return." 

"  No,  no,  not  too  soon,"  Grand-Louis  had  replied.  "  I 
will  arrange  an  interview  without  danger,  but  let  me  take 
my  measures.  I  will  bring  back  your  boy  this  evening, 
and  will  speak  with  you  again  if  I  can." 

When  Marcelle  was  gone,  Lemor  came  out  of  his  hid- 
ing-place, where  he  began  to  feel  dizzy,  not  so  much  from 
the  intoxicating  fragrance  of  the  hay,  as  from  joy  and 
emotion. 

"  Friend,"  said  he  gayly,  to  the  miller,  "  I  am  your 
mill-boy,  and  I  do  not  propose  to  live  at  your  expense 
without  working  for  you.  Give  me  something  to  do,  and 
you  shall  see  that  the  Parisian's  arms  are  tolerably  good, 
notwithstanding  his  slight  looks." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Grand-Louis,  "  when  the  heart  is  sat- 
isfied the  arms  are  supple  enough.  Your  affairs  are  go- 
ing on  better  than  mine,  my  lad,  and  when  we  have  a 
talk  this  evening  it  will  be  your  turn  to  give  me  courage. 


I90 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT, 


But  now,  you  say  rightly,  we  must  be  busy.  I  cannot 
spend  my  time  in  talking  of  love,  and  you  might  go  mad 
with  happiness  if  you  were  idle.  Labor  is  wholesome 
for  all;  it  sustains  joy  and  diverts  sorrow,  which,  per- 
haps, means  that  the  good  God  made  it  for  us  all.  Come, 
you  shall  help  me  raise  my  gate  and  set  Grand'-Louise 
dancing.  Her  song  has  a  virtue  to  restore  my  spirits 
when  I  am  out  of  order." 

"  Ah  I  heavens  !  this  child  will  recognize  me  !  "  said 
Lemor,  perceiving  Edward,  who  had  escaped  from  the  old 
woman's  arms,  and  was  climbing  the  steep  staircase  of 
the  mill  on  his  hands  and  knees. 

"  He  has  seen  you  already,"  replied  the  miller  ;  *'  do 
not  hide  yourself,  and  seem  to  take  no  notice  of  him.  It 
is  not  certain  that  he  will  know  you,  dressed  as  you  are." 

Edward,  in  fact,  stopped,  puzzled  and  silent.  It  was  a 
month  since  Marcelle  had  abruptly  left  Montmorency  to 
go  to  her  dying  husband.  The  boy  had  not  seen  Lemor 
since,  and  a  month  is  an  age  in  such  a  young  child's 
memory.  It  is  true  this  boy  was  precocious  in  the  de- 
velopment of  his  faculties,  but  Lemor  without  a  beard, 
his  face  dusty  with  flour,  and  wrapped  in  a  peasant's 
blouse,  was  not  very  recognizable.  Edward  stood  petri- 
fied before  him  for  a  minute,  but  meeting  the  grave  and 
indifferent  look  of  the  friend  who  usually  caught  him  in 
his  arms,  he  cast  down  his  eyes  with  a  sort  of  embarrass- 
ment, and  even  of  fear  —  a  feeling  which,  in  children, 
almost  always  mingles  with  astonishment ;  then  he  ap- 
proached the  miller,  and  said  to  him  with  the  serious  and 
meditative  air  he  often  wore  : 

"  Who  is  that  man  there?  " 

"  That?  that  is  my  mill-boy,  Antoine." 

"  Thou  hast  two,  then?  " 

"Boys?  Good!  I  have  them  by  dozens.  That  is 
Alochon  No.  2." 

"  And  Jean  is  Alochon  No.  3  ?  " 

*'  As  you  say.  General." 

"Is  thy  Antoine  cross?  " 

"  No,  no !  but  he  is  rather  stupid,  rather  deaf,  and 
does  not  play  with  children." 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT.  191 

"  In  that  case  I  will  go  play  with  Jean,"  said  Edward, 
going  carelessly  away.  At  four  years  old  the  heart 
knows  not  what  it  is  to  be  deceived,  and  the  word  of  a 
beloved  person  has  more  power  over  the  mind  than  the 
testimony  of  the  senses. 

The  grain  which  the  miller  was  that  evening  to  make 
into  flour  was  brought  to  the  hopper.  It  was  M.  Bric- 
olin's,  contained  in  two  sacks,  each  marked  with  two 
enormous  initials. 

"  See,"  said  Grand-Louis,  this  time  with  a  laugh  of 
some  bitterness,  "  Bricolin  of  Blanchemont,  as  if  to  say, 
Bricolhi  living  at  Blanchemont.  But  when  he  buys  the 
estate  he  will  have  to  put  another  little  h  between  the 
two  great  ones.  That  will  read,  Bricolin,  Baron  of 
Blanchemont." 

"  How  ! "  said  Lemor,  occupied  with  another  idea  ;  "  is 
this  the  Blanchemont  grain?  " 

''  Yes,"  replied  the  miller,  who  divined  his  meaning 
before  he  spoke,  ''it  is  the  grain  which  will  make  the 
flour  —  of  which  will  be  made  the  bread  —  that  will  be 
eaten  by  Mme.  Marcelle  and  Mile.  Rose.  They  say  that 
Rose  is  too  rich  to  marry  a  man  like  me  ;  it  is  I,  never- 
theless, who  furnish  her  with  the  bread  which  she  eats  !  " 

"  So,  we  labor  for  iliQm  !  "   resumed  Lemor. 

"  Yes,  yes,  boy.  Attention  to  the  word  of  command  ! 
This  is  no  time  to  slight  duty.  The  deuce  !  I  might  work 
for  the  king,  and  not  put  half  so  much  heart  into  it !  " 

This  every-day  circumstance  in  the  customs  of  the  mill 
took  a  romantic  and  almost  poetic  coloring  in  the  brain 
of  the  young  Parisian,  and  he  set  himself  to  help  the 
miller  with  such  zeal  and  attention,  that  in  the  course  of 
two  hours  he  was  perfectly  acquainted  with  the  trade. 
He  found  no  difficulty  in  accustoming  himself  to  the  ele- 
mentary and  almost  barbarous  mechanism  of  the  estab- 
lishment. He  comprehended  the  improvements  which, 
with  a  little  ready  money  (the  forbidden  fruit  to  the 
peasant),  might  be  made  in  the  rustic  machine.  He  soon 
learned  in  patois  the  technical  names  of  each  part  and 
each  motion.  Jean  was  a  little  disturbed  and  jealous  at 
seeing  him  so  active,  and  in  such  favor  with  his  master. 


193 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 


But  when  Grand-Louis  took  pains  to  explain  to  liim  that 
the  Parisian  was  there  only  temporarily,  and  that   hia 

(Jean's)  place  was  not  threatened  with  invasion,  he  waa 
reassured,  and  even  determined,  like  a  good  Berrichon 
as  he  was,  to  yield  a  portion  of  his  work  for  some  days  to 
his  officious  companion.  He  made  use  of  his  liberty  to 
go  to  Blanchemont,  and  carry  back  Edward,  who  began 
to  be  tired,  and  troubled  at  being  so  long  parted  from  hia 
mother.  Grand'-Marie  could  no  longer  succeed  in  amus- 
ing him,  and  as  Fanchon  had  come  for  him,  Jean  waa 
not  sorry  to  accompany  his  young  fellow-servant  to  the 
chateau. 

-  When  the  task  was  finished,  Lemor,  his  forehead  bathed 
with  sweat  and  his  face  animated,  felt  more  supple  in 
body  and  more  vigorous  in  will  than  for  many  months 
before.  The  long  reveries  which  preyed  upon  his  youth 
gave  place  to  the  healthy  vitality,  physical  and  moral, 
which  Providence  has  attached  to  the  accomplishment  of 
human  labor  when  the  object  is  well  defined,  and  the 
fatigue  proportioned  to  the  strength. 

"  Friend,"  cried  he,  "  labor  is  beautiful  and  holy  in 
itself ;  you  were  right  in  saying  so  as  we  began !  God 
imposes  and  blesses  it.  It  seemed  sweet  to  me  to  work 
for  my  mistress's  food ;  oh !  how  much  sweeter  still  to 
work  at  the  same  time  to  nourish  the  life  of  a  family  of 
equals  and  brothers  !  When  each  shall  labor  for  all,  and 
all  for  each,  how  light  will  be  the  toil,  how  fair  our  life  !  " 
"  Yes,  my  profession,  in  that  case,  would  be  one  of  the 
most  elegant !  "  said  the  miller,  with  a  smile  of  quick  in- 
telligence. "  Grain  is  the  noblest  of  plants ;  bread  the 
purest  of  food.  My  function  might  well  deserve  some  es- 
teem, and  on  holidays  a  crown  of  wheat-ears  and  blue- 
bells might  be  wreathed  around  poor  Grande-Louise^  to 
whom  no  one  pays  any  attention  now  ;  but  what  would 
you  have?  In  these  days  of  ours,  as  M.  Bricolin  says, 
I  am  only  a  mercenary  in  his  employ,  and  he  says  of  me  ; 
*  A  man  like  him  think  of  my  daughter  !  A  wretch  who 
grinds  the  grain,  when  it  is  I  who  sow  the  seed  and  pos- 
sess the  earth  ! '  A  fine  difference,  nevertheless  !  My 
hands  are  cleaner  than  his  are  with  turning  over  manure ; 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT.  193 

that  is  all.  So  now,  my  boy,  the  work  is  done,  let  us 
make  haste  with  the  soup.  I  will  warrant  you  will  think 
it  better  than  in  the  morning,  though  it  should  be  ten 
times  as  salt ;  and  then  I  will  take  myself  to  Blanche- 
mont,  to  carry  these  two  sacks." 

"Without  me?" 

"  Doubtless  !  Have  you  a  fancy  to  be  seen  at  the  farm  ?  " 

"  Nobody  there  knows  me." 

"That  is  true.     But  what  would  you  do  there?" 

"  Nothing ;  I  will  help  you  unload  your  sacks." 

*'  And  what  good  will  that  do  you  ?  " 

"  I  may  see  somebody  pass  through  the  court." 

"And  ii  somebody  should  not  pass?" 

"  I  shall  see  the  house  that  she  inhabits.  Perhaps  I 
shall  hear  her  name  spoken." 

"  In  my  opinion  we  might  give  ourselves  that  pleasure 
without  going  so  far." 

"  It  is  two  steps  from  here?  " 

"  You  have  an  answer  for  everything.  Will  you  com- 
mit no  imprudence  ?  " 

"  You  think  I  do  not  love  her,  then  ?  Would  you  com- 
mit any  in  my  place  ?  " 

"  I  might, —  if  I  were  beloved  !  Let  us  see  !  you  will 
not  gaze  at  her  as  you  did  from  the  loft  door?  Do  you 
know  I  thought  you  would  set  my  hay  on  fire?  " 

"I  will  not  look  at  her  at  all." 

"  And  you  will  not  speak  to  her?" 

"What  pretext  could  I  have  to  speak  to  her?  " 

"  You  will  seek  none?  " 

"  I  will  not  even  enter  the  court,  if  you  forbid  me.  1 
will  look  at  the  walls  from  a  distance." 

"  That  will  be  wisest.  I  will  permit  you  to  scent, 
from  the  gate,  the  wind  that  blows  over  the  chateau  — 
that  is  all." 

The  two  friends  started  at  fall  of  day,  Sophie,  loaded 
with  the  two  sacks,  walking  magisterially  before  them. 
Grand-Louis,  sad  at  heart,  spoke  little,  and  gave  vent  to 
his  gloomy  thoughts  only  by  heavy  strokes  with  his  whip, 
right  and  left,  upon  the  hedges  filled  with  wild  mulberries 
13 


194 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT, 


and  pale  honeysuckles,  more  fragrant  than  those  we  col* 
tivate  in  our  gardens. 

Tliey  had  passed  a  cluster  of  cabins  called  Le  Cortioux, 
when  Lemor  stopped,  as  he  was  walking  by  the  side  of 
the  ditch,  surprised  to  see  a  man  lying  at  full  length  under 
the  hedge,  his  head  supported  upon  a  plump  wallet. 

"  Oh  !  oh ! "  said  the  miller,  without  expressing  any 
wonder,  *'  you  came  near  walking  on  my  uncle." 

The  sleeper  awoke  with  a  start,  at  the  sonorous  voice 
of  Grand-Louis.  He  rose  briskly,  seized  with  both  hands 
a  great  staff  that  lay  by  his  side,  and  enunciated  an  en- 
ergetic oath. 

*' Don't  be  vexed,  uncle ! "  said  the  miller,  laughing. 
*'  It  is  only  friends  who  pass,  by  your  leave  ;  for  though 
the  roads  are  yours,  as  you  say,  you  don't  forbid  any  one 
to  use  them,  do  you?" 

"  Oh  I  ho  !  "  said  the  man,  rising  entirely,  and  display- 
ing a  gigantic  form  and  a  repulsive  appearance  ;  "  I  am 
the  best  of  proprietors,  thou  knowest,  my  little  fellow. 
But  it  is  rather  an  abuse  of  my  goodness  to  walk  over 
my  face.  Who  may  this  bad  Christian  be,  that  does 
not  see  an  honest  man  stretched  on  his  bed?  I  do  not 
know  him,  and  I  know  everybody  here  and  elsewhere." 

So  speaking,  the  beggar  disdainfully  measured  Lemor 
with  his  eye,  while  the  latter,  on  his  side,  observed  him 
with  repugnance.  He  was  a  bony  old  man,  covered  with 
filthy  rags,  and  with  a  stiff  beard  of  mingled  black  and 
white,  that  resembled  the  panoply  of  a  hedgehog.  His 
high-crowned  hat,  partly  falling  in  shreds,  was  sur- 
mounted —  as  if  in  derision  —  by  a  bow  of  white  ribbon, 
and  a  bunch  of  sadly  faded  artificial  flowers. 

*'  Make  yourself  easy,  uncle,"  said  the  miller  ;  *'  this 
is  a  good  Christian  —  go  to  !  " 

"And  how  is  one  to  know  him?"  resumed  uncle  d 
doche,  taking  off  his  hat  and  reaching  it  to  Henri. 

"  Come,"  said  the  miller  to  Lemor,  "  don't  you  under 
stand  ?     My  uncle  asks  you  for  a  sou.'* 

Lemor  threw  his  alms  into  the  hat  of  the  uncle,  wh< 
took  it  immediately  out,  and  1  urned  it  over  in  his  long ' 
fingers  with  a  sort  of  rapture. 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT, 


195 


"It  is  a  great  sou  !  "  said  he,  with  a  sordid  smile. 
**  Perhaps  ten  revolutionary  decimes  !  No !  God  be 
praised !  It  is  a  Louis  XV.  !  it  is  my  king !  a  king 
whose  reign  I  have  seen  !  It  will  bring  good  luck  to  me, 
and  to  thee  too,  my  nephew,"  added  he,  laying  his  large 
angular  hand  upon  Lemor's  shoulder.  "Thou  mayst 
now  say  that  thou  art  one  of  my  family,  and  I  will  recog- 
nize thee,  even  if  disguised  from  head  to  foot." 

"Come,  come,  good-evening,  uncle,"  said  Grand- 
Louis,  joining  his  offering  to  Lemor's.  "  Are  we  friends  ?" 

"  Always  !  "  answered  the  beggar,  in  a  solemn  voice. 
"Thou  hast  always  been  a  good  relation — the  best  of 
all  my  family.  Therefore  it  is  to  thee,  Grand-Louis, 
that  I  shall  leave  all  my  wealth.  I  have  told  thee  so  for 
a  long  time,  and  thou  shalt  see  if  I  keep  my  word." 

"  Keep  it !  parbleu,  I  reckon  upon  it !  "  said  the  miller, 
gayly.     "  Will  the  bouquet  be  part  of  it?" 

"  The  hat  will,  but  the  bouquet  and  the  ribbons  are  for 
my  last  mistress." 

"  The  deuce !  But  I  thought  a  great  deal  of  the 
bouquet !  " 

"  I  believe  you  did,"  said  the  beggar,  who  was  walk- 
ing behind  the  two  young  men,  and  followed  them  with 
an  alert  step,  notwithstanding  his  great  age.  "  The 
bouquet  is  the  most  precious  thing  in  the  inheritance.  It 
is  blessed,  seest  thou?  It  came  from  Saint  Solange's 
chapel."  -— -~-    ^^. 

"  How  can  so  devout  a  man  as  you  call  yourself  talk 
of  his  mistresses?"  said  Henri,  who  felt  only  a  strong 
disgust  for  this  absurd  personage. 

"Hold  thy  tongue,  nephew!"  replied  uncle  Cadoche, 
with  a  side  glance  at  him  ;  "  thou  speakest  like  a  fool !  " 

"  Excuse  him,  he  is  only  a  child,"  said  the  miller,  who 
habitually  jested  with  the  tall  uncle.  "  He  has  no  beard 
on  his  chin  yet,  and  thinks  he  must  talk !  But  where 
are  you  going  so  late,  uncle  ?  Do  you  expect  to  sleep  in 
your  own  house  to-night  ?     It  is  very  far." 

"  Oh,  no  ;  I  am  going  directly  to  Blanchemont,  for  the 
fete  to-morrow." 


196  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 

"  Ah,  true  !  it  is  a  good  day  for  you.  You  will  col- 
lect at  least  forty  sous." 

*'  No,  but  still  enough  to  have  a  mass  said  to  the  good 
saint  of  the  parish." 

"  Then  you  still  like  masses  ?  " 

"  The  mass,  and  brandy,  nephew,  and  a  little  tobacco, 
are  the  salvation  of  soul  and  body." 

"  Ido  not  deny  it,  but  brandy  is  not  warming  enough 
to  allow  one  to  sleep  in  such  a  way,  in  a  ditch,  at  your 
age,  uncle." 

"  One  sleeps  where  one  happens  to  be,  nephew.  If 
you  are  tired,  you  stop  and  take  a  nap  on  a  stone,  or 
your  wallet  —  when  it  is  not  too  empty." 

"  It  is  my  opinion  that  yours  is  pretty  full  this 
evening." 

"Yes,  nephew,  thou  oughtest  to  let  me  put  it  on  thy 
horse  ;  it  tires  me  a  little." 

"  No,  Sophie  has  enough  of  a  load.  But  give  it  to  me, 
I  will  carry  it  for  you  to  Blanchemont." 

"  That  is  right !  Thou  art  young,  and  shouldst  wait 
upon  thy  uncle.  See,  here  it  is.  Is  thy  blouse  clean  ?  " 
he  added,  with  an  air  of  disgust. 

"Oh,  it  is  only  flour,"  said  the  miller,  taking  the  beg- 
gar's satchel;  "it  will  not  quarrel  with  bread.  Thou- 
sand thunders  !  there  is  something  inside  —  old  crusts  ?  " 

"Crusts!  I  take  no  crusts.  I  should  like  to  see  any- 
body offer  them  to  me !  I  would  fling  them  in  their 
faces,  as  I  did  once  to  the  Bricolin  woman." 

"  Is  that  what  has  made  her  afraid  of  you?  " 

"Yes.  She  says  that  I  might  set  fire  to  her  barns," 
said  the  beggar,  with  a  sinister  look.  Then  he  added,  in 
a  wheedling  tone,  "  Poor  dear  woman  of  the  good  God ! 
as  if  I  were  wicked  !     Whom  did  I  ever  injure?" 

"  Nobody  that  I  know,"  answered  the  miller.  "If 
you  had,  you  would  not  be  where  you  are  now." 

"  Never,  never  did  I  harm  any  one,"  returned  uncle 
Cadoche,  lifting  his  hand  towards  heaven,  "  since  I  have 
never  been  taken  up  by  justice  for  anything  whatsoever. 
Have  I  been  in  prison  a  single  day  of  my  life  ?  I  have 
always    served    the  good    God,  and  the  good   God  haa 


THE  MILLER    OF  ANGIBAULT, 


97 


always  protected  me,  these  forty  years  that  I  gain  my 
poor  living." 

''  About  how  old  are  you,  uncle?  " 

"  I  do  not  know,  my  child,  for  the  register  of  my  bap- 
tism has  been  mislaid  in  the  course  of  time,  like  many 
others  ;  but  I  must  be  more  than  eighty.  I  am  about  ten 
years  older  than  Father  Bricolin,  who  seems,  nevertheless, 
older  than  I." 

"It  is  true  enough,  you  are  in  fine  preservation,  and 
he  —  but  he  indeed  met  with  accidents  which  do  not 
happen  to  everybody." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  beggar,  with  a  deep  sigh  of  compunc- 
tion.    "  He  has  had  misfortunes  !  —  " 

"Is  it  a  story  of  youc  time?  Are  you  not  of  that 
country  ?  " 

*'  Yes,  I  was  born  in  Buffec,  near  Beaufort,  where  the 
accident  happened." 

"  And  you  were  then  in  the  country?  " 

"  Oh  !  I  should  think  I  was.  Sweet  holy  Virgin  !  I 
cannot  think  of  it  without  trembling !  Were  we  afraid 
in  those  days  !  " 

"Can  you  be  afraid  of  anything  —  you,  who  are 
always  alone  at  all  hours  on  the  roads  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  now,  my  good  son,  what  is  there  to  fear  for  a 
poor  man  like  me,  who  possesses  only  the  three  rags 
that  cover  him  ?  But  in  those  times  I  had  a  little  prop- 
erty, and  lost  it  by  the  robbers." 

"  How  !     Were  the  chauffeurs  with  you  too  ?  " 

"  Oh !  not  at  all !  I  had  not  enough  to  tempt  them ; 
but  I  had  a  little  house  that  I  let  to  journeymen.  When 
the  country  was  full  of  fear  of  the  robbers,  nobody  would 
live  in  it.  I  could  not  sell  it,  and  I  had  not  enough  to 
repair  it.  It  fell  into  ruin.  I  was  obliged  to  incur 
^ebts  that  I  could  not  pay.  Then  my  field,  the  house, 
and  a  pretty  hemp-field  that  I  had,  were  sold  by  forced 
sale.  So  I  was  compelled  to  take  up  the  wallet ;  I  left 
the  country,  and  since  that  time  I  always  journey  like 
the  children  of  the  good  God." 

"  But  you  never  quit  this  district?  " 


198 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 


"  Surely  not ;  I  am  known  here-  I  have  my  patrons 
and  all  my  family  here." 

"  I  thought  you  were  all  alone  ?  " 

*'  And  all  my  nephews,  then  ?  " 

"  True,  I  forgot ;  me,  for  instance,  my  comrade  here, 
and  all  those  who  never  refuse  you  their  sous  to  buy  your 
tobacco.  But  say  now,  uncle,  who  were  these  chauffeurs 
of  whom  we  were  speaking?" 

"  Ask  the  good  God,  my  poor  child,  for  He  alone 
knows." 

"I  have  heard  that  there  were  rich  people  among 
them,  who  were  in  good  standing." 

"  They  say  there  are  some  still  living  who  are  full  and 
fat,  have  good  estates,  good  houses,  make  a  figure  in  the 
country,  and  would  not  give  so  much  as  half  a  sou  to  a 
poor  man.  Ah  !  if  they  had  been  people  like  me,  they 
would  all  have  been  hung !  " 

"  True  enough.  Father  Cadoche  !  " 

"  I  was  still  very  fortunate  in  not  being  accused,  for 
everybody  was  suspected  in  those  times,  and  justice  fell 
only  on  the  poor.  Those  were  imprisoned  who  were 
white  as  snow,  and  when  the  true  culprits  were  in  hand, 
orders  came  from  higher  powers  to  release  them." 

"Why  was  that?" 

"  Because  they  were  rich,  doubtless.  When  didst  thou 
ever  see,  nephew,  that  the  rich  were  not  pardoned  ?  " 

"  That  is  true  again.  Come,  uncle,  here  we  are  at 
Blanchemont.  Where  will  you  have  me  carry  your 
bread  bag  ?  " 

"  Give  it  back  to  me,  nephew.  I  will  go  sleep  in  the 
curate's  stable ;  he  is  a  holy  man,  and  never  sends  me 
away.  He  is  like  thee,  Grand-Louis ;  thou  hast  never 
shown  me  the  cold  shoulder.  Therefore  thou  shalt  be 
recompensed ;  thou  shalt  be  my  heir,  as  I  have  always 
promised  thee.  Except  the  bouquet,  which  I  shall  give 
to  little  Borgnotte,  thou  shalt  have  all  —  my  house,  my 
clothes,  my  wallet,  and  my  pig." 

" Good,  good  !  "  said  the  miller  ;  "I  see  that  I  shall  be 
too  rich  at  last,  and  that  all  the  girls  will  want  to  marry 
me." 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 


199 


"I  admire  your  heart,  Grand-Louis,"  said  Lemor, 
when  the  beggar  had  disappeared  behind  the  hedges  of 
the  enclosure,  which  he  plunged  straight  through  without 
troubling  himself  to  find  a  gap  or  seek  a  path.  "  You 
treat  this  beggar  as  if  he  were  really  your  uncle." 

"  Why  not,  since  he  takes  pleasure  in  playing  the  great 
relation,  and  promising  his  inlieritance  to  everybody.? 
A  fine  inheritance,  by  my  faith  !  His  mud-cabin,  where 
he  sleeps  with  his  pig,  neither  better  nor  worse  than  St. 
Anthony,  and  his  cast-off  rags,  which  turn  one's  stomach  ! 
If  that  were  all  I  needed  to  satisfy  M.  Bricolin,  my  af- 
fairs are  in  fine  order  !  " 

"  Yet,  in  spite  of  the  disgust  with  which  his  person  in- 
spires you,  you  took  his  wallet  on  your  shoulders  to  ease 
him.     Louis,  your  spirit  is  truly  evangelic." 

"  A  mighty  wonder  !  Could  I  refuse  so  slight  a  ser- 
vice to  a  poor  devil  who,  at  the  age  of  eighty,  still  begs 
his  bread  ?  After  all,  he  is  an  honest  fellow.  Every- 
body feels  an  interest  in  him,  because  he  is  trusty,  though 
a  little  hypocritical  and  libertine." 

"  So  it  seemed  to  me." 

"Bah!  What  virtues  do  you  think  such  people  can 
have  ?  It  is  much  when  they  have  only  vices,  and  do 
not  commit  crimes.  Did  he  not  talk  sensibly,  notwith- 
standing all  ?  " 

"  Towards  the  last  I  was  struck  with  it.  But  why 
does  he  think  himself  everybody's  uncle  .f*  Is  it  a  trace 
of  insanity  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no !  it  is  a  way  he  has.  Many  of  his  trade 
affect  some  peculiarity  to  make  themselves  amusing, 
draw  attention,  and  divert  people  who  would  give  alms 
neither  from  prudence  nor  charity.  It  is  unhappily  the 
custom  among  us  for  the  poor  to  play  the  part  of  buf- 
foons at  the  gates  of  the  rich.  But  here  we  are  at  the 
farm  of  Blanchcmont,  comrade.  Stay,  take  my  advice  ! 
do  not  go  in.  I  do  not  doubt  that  you  would  control 
yourself;  but  she,  unprepared,  might  give  a  scream,  or 
utter  a  word  —  let  me  at  least  warn  her." 

"  But  everybody  is  still  up  in  the  village  ;  will  not  the 


200  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIDAULT. 

presence  of  an  unknown  person  be  remarked,  if  I  wait 
for  you  here  ?  " 

"  Then  you  will  do  me  the  kindness  to  step  into  the 
warren.  No  one  walks  there  at  this  hour.  Sit  down 
rationally  in  a  corner.  As  I  come  back,  I  will  whistle 
as  if  I  called  a  dog,  saving  your  presence,  and  you  will 
rejoin  me." 

Lemor  yielded,  hoping  that  the  ingenious  miller  would 
find  some  means  to  bring  Marcelle  in  this  direction.  He 
slowly  followed  the  shaded  path  through  the  warren, 
stopping  every  instant  to  listen,  holding  his  breath  and 
retracing  his  steps,  not  to  lose  a  moment  of  so  thrice 
happy  a  meeting. 

It  was  not  long  before  he  heard  light  steps  brush  the 
turf,  and  a  rustling  in  the  foliage  which  convinced  him 
that  some  one  was  approaching.  He  slipped  into  the  bushes 
to  be  sure  that  he  was  not  mistaken,  and  saw  dimly 
through  the  leaves  the  slender  form  of  a  woman  coming 
towards  him.  We  easily  believe  what  we  desire,  and 
Henri,  not  doubting  that  it  was  Marcelle,  sent  by  the 
miller,  came  forward  and  hastened  to  meet  the  figure. 
But  he  stopped  on  hearing  an  unknown  voice  call  cau- 
tiously, '^  Paul !  Paul !  art  thou  there,  Paul?  " 

Perceiving  that  he  was  mistaken,  and  thinking  that  he 
had  fallen  upon  the  appointed  rendezvous  of  another, 
Henri  would  have  escaped.  But  he  made  some  noise  in 
stepping  on  the  dry  branches,  and  the  maniac,  seeing  him 
in  the  midst  of  her  dream  of  love,  darted  upon  his  track 
with  the  speed  of  an  arrow,  crying  in  a  plaintive  voice  : 
"  Paul !  Paul !  I  am  here  !  Paul !  it  is  I !  —  do  not  go  I 
Paul !  Paul !  thou  always  fliest  me  I " 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT,  201 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

THE     MANIAC. 

T  EMOR  was  not  much  troubled  at  first  by  this  adven- 
■*— '  lure.  He  thought  that  under  favor  of  the  night  he 
could  easily  avoid  this  woman.  He  had  not  distin- 
guished her  sufficiently  to  suspect  her  insanity,  and  nat- 
urally flattered  himself  that  he  could  run  much  better 
than  she.  But  he  soon  found  that  he  was  mistaken,  and 
that  all  his  agility  was  not  too  much  merely  to  maintain 
the  distance  between  them.  He  was  obliged  to  cross  the 
entire  warren,  and  soon  came  to  the  avenue  at  its  foot, 
where  Bricoline  was  accustomed  to  walk  for  whole  hours, 
and  where,  in  certain  places,  the  grass  was  worn  by  her 
feet.  The  fugitive,  till  now  somewhat  impeded  by  the 
roughness  of  the  path  and  the  roots  entangled  above  the 
earth,  exerted  all  his  strength  in  the  avenue  to  reach  the 
terrace.  But  the  maniac,  when  under  the  influence  of 
one  burning  idea,  became  light  as  a  dry  leaf  driven  by 
storms,  and  she  followed  him  so  rapidly  that  Lemor,  lost 
in  surprise,  and  thinking  it  of  great  importance  that  he 
should  not  be  seen  near  enough  for  future  recognition, 
plunged  anew  into  the  wood,  and  tried  to  lose  himself  in 
the  shade.  But  the  maniac  knew  every  tree,  every 
thicket,  and  —  so  to  speak  —  every  branch  in  the 
warren.  During  the  twelve  years  that  she  had  passed 
her  life  there,  there  was  not  a  nook  into  which  her  body 
was  not  mechanically  accustomed  to  penetrate,  although 
the  state  of  her  mind  prevented  her  from  forming  any  ra- 
tional plan  of  action.  Yet  more,  the  height  of  her  frenzy 
made  her  completely  insensible  to  physical  suflfering. 
She  would  have  left  fragments  of  her  flesh   upon   the 


202  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 

thorns  without  perceiving  it,  and  this  sort  of  cataleptic 
condition  gave  her  no  little  advantage  over  him  she 
wished  to  reac-h.  She  was,  besides,  so  small,  her  atten- 
uated body  occupied  so  little  space,  that  she  slid  like  a 
lizard  between  serried  stems,  where  Lemor  was  obliged 
laboriously  to  force  himself  a  passage,  or,  more  fre- 
quently, to  retrace  his  steps. 

Finding  himself  more  embarrassed  than  before,  he  re- 
gained the  avenue,  still  closely  pursued,  and  determined 
to  leap  the  ditch,  although  unable  to  estimate  its  width, 
on  account  of  the  thick  bushes  that  covered  it.  He 
sprang,  and  fell  on  his  knees  among  the  brambles.  But 
he  had  scarcely  time  to  rise,  when  the  phantom,  crossing 
this  obstacle  without  a  leap,  and  heeding  neither  stones 
nor  briars,  was  at  his  side,  and  clinging  to  his  garments. 
Lemor's  imagination  was  vivid  as  an  artist's  or  poet's ; 
and  seeing  himself  seized  by  this  truly  fearful  being,  he 
believed  that  he  was  in  the  power  of  a  dream,  and,  strug- 
gling as  if  with  nightmare,  succeeded  in  freeing  himself 
from  the  madwoman,  who  uttered  inarticulate  shrieks, 
and  in  resuming  his  race  across  the  fields. 

But  she  was  upon  his  track,  as  agile  in  the  bristling 
furrows  of  a  newly  reaped  wheat-field,  where  the  stubble 
was  hard  and  prickly,  as  she  had  been  in  the  windings  of 
the  park.  At  the  end  of  the  field  Lemor  cleared  another 
fence,  and  found  himself  in  a  hollow  way  of  rapid  de- 
scent. He  had  not  taken  ten  steps  when  he  heard  the 
spectre  behind  him,  still  crying  in  a  stifled  voice,  "Paul  I 
Paul !  why  dost  thou  fly  from  me  ?  " 

Lemor's  imagination  was  more  and  more  wrought  upon 
by  the  fantastic  nature  of  this  race.  .  While  disengaging 
himself  from  the  maniac's  grasp,  the  clear  starlight  had 
permitted  him  vaguely  to  discern  the  cadaverous  face,  the 
lean  and  torn  arms,  and  the  long  black  locks  floating  over 
the  bloody  rags  of  this  singular  apparition.  That  the 
unhappy  creature  was  insane,  had  not  crossed  his  mind. 
He  thought  himself  pursued  by  a  jealous  woman,  crazy 
perhaps  for  the  moment,  since  she  persisted  in  taking  him 
for  another.  He  doubted  whether  he  should  not  stop  to 
speak  to  and  undeceive  her  ;  but  how,  then,  should  he  ex- 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT.  203 

plain  his  presence  in  the  warren?  Unknown,  and  gliding 
like  a  thief  through  the  darkness,  would  not  such  a  debut 
awaken  strange  suspicions  at  the  farm,  and  ought  he  not, 
above  all,  to  avoid  signalizing  his  appearance  in  the  coun- 
try by  a  scandalous  or  absurd  adventure  ? 

He  tlius  resolved  to  run  on,  and  this  extraqi'dinary 
exercise  lasted  nearly  half  an  hour  without  interruption. 
Lemor's  brain  grew  heated  in  spite  of  himself,  and  at 
moments  he  felt  himself  becoming  frantic,  in  seeing  the 
inconceivable  persistence  and  the  supernatural  speed  of 
the  relentless  phantom  on  his  track.  It  was  like  the 
legends  told  of  goblins  weird,  and  malignant  spirits  of 
night. 

At  last  Lemor  found  the  Vauvre  at  the  bottom  of  the 
valley,  and,  though  bathed  in  sweat,  he  was  about  to  throw 
himself  in  and  swim  across,  conceiving  that  this  obstacle 
placed  between  him  and  the  spectre  would  finally  deliver 
him,  when  he  heard  behind  him  a  horrible,  agonized 
scream,  which  sent  a  sudden  chill  through  his  whole 
being.  He  turned  and  saw  nothing.  The  maniac  had 
vanished. 

Henri's  first  impulse  was  to  profit  by  what  might  be 
only  a  moment's  respite  to  fly  still  farther,  and  entirely 
conceal  his  course.  But  this  fearful  scream  left  too 
painful  an  impression  on  him.  Had  it  really  proceeded 
from  this  woman  ?  The  sound  was  scarcely  human  ;  and 
yet  what  grief,  what  terrible  despair  it  seemed  to  express  ! 
*'  Could  she  have  fallen  and  severely  wounded  herself?" 
thought  Lemor  ;  "or,  when  she  lost  sight  of  me  behind  the 
willows,  did  she  think  I  was  drowned?  Was  it  a  cry  of 
agony,  or  terror?  Or  was  it  but  rage  at  not  being  able 
to  follow  me  into  the  water,  where  she  might  suppose  I 
had  thrown  myself?  But  if  she  should  have  fallen  into 
some  ditch,  or  down  some  precipice  which  I  did  not  see 
as  1  ran  ?  If  this  unhappy  chance-encounter  should  cost 
the  unfortunate  creature  her  life  !  No,  whatever  be  the 
result,  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  abandon  her  in  the  hor- 
rors of  the  last  agony." 

Lemor   retraced  his   steps,  and  sought  the  unknown 


to4  ^^^  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 

without  finding  her.  The  steep  road  by  which  he  had 
come  skirted  the  extremity  of  the  warren  ;  it  was  en- 
closed by  lofty  hedges  and  no  ditch  ;  there  was  no  bog,  no 
pool  where  she  could  have  been  drowned.  The  sandy 
soil  showed  no  sign,  as  far  as  Lemor  could  distinguish, 
of  the  fall  of  a  body.  He  was  still  seeking,  lost  in  con- 
jecture, when  he  heard  some  one  repeatedly  whistle,  as  if 
calling  a  dog.  At  first  he  was  so  preoccupied  and  ex- 
cited with  his  adventure,  as  to  pay  little  attention  to  it. 
But,  finally,  he  remembered  that  this  was  the  signal 
agreed  upon  with  the  miller,  and,  in  despair  of  finding  his 
pursuer,  he  answered  Grand-Louis's  call  by  another 
whistle. 

"  I  think  the  devil  is  in  you,"  said  the  latter  to  him,  in 
a  low  voice,  when  they  met  in  the  warren,  "to  go  and 
walk  so  far  when  I  advised  you  not  to  stir !  It  is  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  here  that  I  have  been  hunting  for  you 
in  the  wood,  not  daring  to  call  too  loud,  and  losing  pa- 
tience —  But  how  you  look !  all  panting  and  torn ! 
The  deuce  take  me,  my  blouse  has  had  a  poor  time  of  it 
on  your  back,  by  what  I  can  see.  But  speak  !  you  look 
like  a  hunted  rabbit,  or  rather  like  a  man  chased  by  a 
will-o'-the-wisp." 

"You  have  hit  it,  my  friend.  Either  Jean's  stories 
of  the  nocturnal  goblins  of  the  Black  Valley  have  an 
inexplicable  groundwork  of  reality,  or  I  have  had  a  hal- 
lucination. But  I  think  it  is  an  hour  (perhaps  an  age, 
for  aught  I  know  !)  that  I  have  been  fighting  against  the 
devil." 

"  If  you  did  not  obstinately  drink  cold  water  at  all 
your  meals,"  replied  the  miller,  "I  should  think  that  you 
had  simply  been  in  the  necessary  condition  for  meeting 
the  Wild  Hunter,  the  white  leveret^  or  Georgeon  the  wolf' 
leader.  But  you  are  too  learned  and  rational  a  man  to 
believe  in  such  stories.  Something  must,  indeed,  have 
happened  to  you.     A  mad  dog,  perhaps  ?  " 

"Worse  than  that,"  said  Lemor,  gradually  recovering 
his  spirits  ;  "a  mad  woman,  my  friend  !  a  sorceress,  who 
ran  quicker  than  I,  and  who  vanished,  I  know  not  how, 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT.  205 

at  the  moment  that  I  was  about  to  fling  myself  into  the 
water  to  get  clear  of  her." 

"A  woman?  oh  !  oh  !  and  what  did  she  say?" 

"  She  took  me  for  one  Paul,  who  seems  to  be  very 
near  her  heart." 

"I  guessed  as  much  —  it  was  she  !  it  was  the  crazy  girl 
from  the  chateau.  How  could  I  be  so  stupid  as  not  to 
foresee  that  you  might  meet  her  here !  Truly,  it  went 
out  of  my  head  !  We  are  so  used  to  seeing  her  trotting 
about  in  the  evening  like  an  old  weasel,  that  we  pay  no 
more  attention  to  her.  And  yet  it  is  a  heart-rending 
story  when  one  thinks  of  it !  But  what  the  devil  set  her 
upon  you  ?  She  generally  flies  when  any  one  comes  her 
way.  Her  trouble  must  be  worse  of  late  ;  yet  the  dose 
was  strong  enough  before,  poor  girl ! " 

^'  Who  is  this  unfortunate  creature  ?  " 

"  You  shall  know  by  and  by.  Let  us  walk  faster,  if 
you  please.     You  look  half  dead  with  fatigue." 

"  I  believe  that  I  broke  my  knees  in  my  fall." 

"  Nevertheless,  there  is  somebody  at  the  end  of  the 
path  there,  who  is  tired  with  waiting  for  you,"  said  the 
miller,  lowering  his  voice  still  more. 

"Oh!"  cried  Lemor,  "I  feel  lighter  than  the  night 
wind !  " 

And  he  began  to  run. 

"  Gently  !  "  said  the  miller,  holding  him  back.  "  Run 
only  on  the  grass.  No  noise !  She  is  there  under  that 
great  tree.  Do  not  leave  the  spot.  I  will  keep  watch 
around  in  case  of  surprise." 

"  Does  she  run  any  risk  in  coming  here,  then?  "  said 
Lemor,  alarmed. 

"  If  I  had  thought  so,  I  would  have  prevented  her 
from  coming !  They  are  all  busy  at  the  new  chateau 
with  to-morrow's  fete.  But  at  least  I  could  keep  off"  the 
crazy  girl,  if  she  were  to  take  a  fancy  to  return  and  tor- 
ment you." 

Henri,  lost  in  his  happiness,  forgot  all  else,  and  hurried 
to  the  feet  of  Marcelle,  who  was  waiting  for  him  beneath 
ii  clump  of  oaks,  in  the  most  unfrequented  part  of  the 
wood. 


2o6  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 

There  was  no  room  for  explanation  in  their  first  rap- 
ture. Diffident  and  reserved  as  they  had  always  been, 
still  they  felt  a  transport  which  no  human  words  could 
have  fitly  expressed.  They  were  bewildered  at  meeting 
so  soon,  after  having  almost  believed  in  an  eternal  separ- 
ation, and  yet  they  sought  not  to  explain  to  each  other  the 
processes  by  which  their  minds  had  been  brought  to  such 
speedy  retraction  of  all  their  courageous  projects  of  sacri- 
fice. They  mutually  divined  the  bitter  pain  and  the  irre- 
sistible impulse  that  had  forced  them  together  at  the  very 
moment  when  they  had  vowed  to  part. 

"  Madman  !  who  would  have  left  me  forever  !  "  said 
Murcelle,  yielding  her  beautiful  hand  to  Lemor. 

'*  Cruel !  who  would  have  banished  me  for  a  year !  " 
replied  Henri,  covering  that  fair  hand  with  burning 
kisses. 

And  Marcelle  clearly  understood  that  her  resolution  of 
a  year  of  courage  had  been  more  sincere  in  her  own  eyes 
than  the  eternal  exile  to  which  Lemor  had  tried  to  con- 
demn himself. 

Thus,  when  they  could  speak,  an  effort  of  which  they 
were  incapable  till  they  had  long  gazed  at  each  other  in 
the  silence  of  ecstasy,  Marcelle  was  the  first  to  recur  to 
this  truly  laudable  design. 

"  Lemor,"  said  she,  "  this  is  but  a  sunbeam  between 
two  clouds.  The  law  of  duty  must  be  obeyed.  Even  if 
here  we  should  meet  with  no  obstacle  to  the  security  of 
our  relation,  there  would  be  something  deeply  irreligious 
in  so  quick  an  union,  and  this  hour  ought  to  be  our  last 
meeting  before  the  expiration  of  my  mourning.  Tell  me 
that  you  love  me,  and  that  I  shall  be  your  wife,  and  I 
shall  have  all  the  strength  necessary  to  wait  for  you." 

"  Do  not  speak  to  me  now  of  separation  ! "  said  Lemor, 
impetuously.  ""Oh!  let  me  taste  the  full  sweetness  of 
this  fairest  moment  of  my  life.  Let  me  forget  what  was 
yesterday,  and  what  will  be  to-morrow.  See  what  a  soft 
night,  what  a  beautiful  heaven  !  How  quiet  and  balmy 
is  this  spot !  You  are  here  !  It  is  indeed  you,  Marcelle  ! 
It  is  not  your  shadow  !  We  are  both  here  !  We  have 
found  each  other  again  by  chance,  and  involuntarily  I 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT.  207 

God  willed  it,  and  we  were  hoih  so  happy  to  obey  !  —  you, 
too,  Marcelle,  as  well  as  I  ?  Is  it  possible  ?  No,  I  do 
not  dream,  for  you  are  here,  near  me,  with  me !  alone ! 
happy !  we  love  one  another  so  well !  We  could  not 
part,  we  cannot,  we  never  can  ! " 

"  And  yet,  my  friend —  " 

"  I  know  — I  know  what  you  would  say.  To-morrow, 
some  day,  you  shall  write  to  me,  and  give  me  your  com- 
mands. You  well  know  that  I  shall  obey  !  Why  speak 
to  me  of  it  this  evening  ?  Why  mar  this  moment,  which 
has  not  its  equal  in  my  whole  life  ?  Let  me  persuade  my- 
self that  it  will  never  end.  Marcelle,  I  see  you  !  Oh  ! 
how  clearly  I  see  you,  in  spite  of  the  darkness !  How 
beautiful  you  have  grown  within  three  days  —  since  this 
morning,  when  you  were  already  so  beautiful !  Oh  !  tell 
me  that  your  hand  shall  never  again  leave  mine  !  How 
firmly  I  hold  it !  " 

"  Ah,  you  are  right,  Lemor  !  Let  us  rejoice  in  meet- 
ing again,  and  not  remember  yet  that  we  must  part  —  to- 
morrow —  some  day." 

"  Yes,  some  day  —  another  day  !  "  cried  Henri. 

"  Do  me  the  favor  to  speak  lower,"  said  the  miller, 
drawing  near.  "  I  cannot  help  hearing  all  that  you  say, 
Monsieur  Henri !  " 

The  two  lovers  remained  for  nearly  an  hour  lost  in  a 
pure  ecstasy,  making  sweet  dreams  for  the  future,  and 
speaking  of  their  happiness  as  if  it  were  not  to  be  broken, 
but  begun  with  the  morrow.  The  perfumes  of  the  night 
were  borne  to  them  by  the  breeze,  and  the  serene  stars 
passed  over  their  heads,  without  inducing  them  to  remark 
the  inevitable  passage  of  Time,  who  lingers  only  in  the 
hearts  of  happy  lovers. 

But  the  miller,  after  having  given  more  than  one  sig- 
nal of  impatience  from  a  distance,  came  and  interrupted 
them  when  the  declination  of  the  polar  stars  marked  ten 
o'clock  on  the  celestial  dial. 

"  My  friends,"  said  he,  "  it  is  impossible  for  me  to 
leave  you  here,  and  impossible  to  wait  for  you  an  instant 
longer.  I  no  longer  hear  the  cow-herds  singing  in  the 
farm-yard,  and  the  lights  are  gone  from  the  windows  of 


2o8  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 

the  new  chateau.  Mile.  Rose's  is  the  only  one  burn- 
ing ;  she  is  waiting  for  Mme.  Marcelle  to  go  to  bed. 
M.  Bricolin  will  soon  make  his  rounds  with  his  dogs, 
as  he  always  does  on  the  eve  of  a  fete  day.  We  must 
part  quickly." 

Lemor  remonstrated  ;  he  had,  he  said,  but  just  come. 

"  That  may  be,"  said  the  miller  ;  "  but  for  me,  do  you 
know  I  must  go  to  La  Chatre  this  evening  ?  " 

"  How  !  on  my  business?  "  said  Marcelle. 

"  So  please  you  !  I  want  to  see  your  notary  before  he 
goes  to  bed,  for  I  do  not  care  to  speak  to  him  to-morrow 
in  open  day,  lest  M.  Bricolin  should  think  me  conspiring 
against  him.'* 

" But,  Grand-Louis,"  said  Marcelle,  "I  do  not  wish 
that  you  should  risk,  for  me  —  " 

"  Enough,  enough  !  "  replied  the  miller.  "  I  am  going 
to  do  just  as  I  please.  And  hark !  1  hear  the  barking 
of  those  yellow  dogs  !  Go  back  through  the  field,  Mme. 
Marcelle,  and  we,  my  Parisian,  will  take  the  upper  way, 
if  you  please.     Come  !  let  us  scamper  I  " 

The  lovers  parted  without  exchanging  another  word. 
They  feared  to  be  reminded  that  they  must  look  upon  this 
interview  as  their  last.  Marcelle  had  not  the  courage  to 
fix  a  day  for  Henri's  departure,  and  he,  dreading  lest  she 
should  fix  it,  hastened  away,  after  repeatedly  kissing  her 
hand  in  silence. 

"  Well,  what  have  you  determined?  "  asked  the  miller, 
when  they  reached  the  edge  of  the  park. 

"  Nothing,  my  friend,"  said  Lemor.  "  We  spoke  only 
of  our  happiness  —  " 

"  For  the  future  ;  but  now?  " 

"  There  is  no  present,  no  future.  All  is  alike  when 
one  loves." 

"  Here  is  where  you  scoured  the  country.  I  hope  now 
that  you  will  keep  yourself  quiet,  and  not  make  me  race 
through  the  woods  at  night  in  a  panic.  Come,  my  lad, 
you  are  on  your  road.  Can  you  easily  find  Angibault 
alone?" 

"  Perfectly  well.  But  do  you  not  wish  me  to  accom- 
pany you  to  the  town  where  you  are  going  ?  " 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT.  209 

"  No,  it  is  too  far.  One  of  us  would  be  on  foot  and 
delay  the  other,  unless  we  were  to  do  as  is  the  fashion 
here,  and  both  mount  Sophie  ;  but  the  poor  beast  is  too 
old,  and,  besides,  she  has  not  had  her  supper  yet.  I  am 
going  to  look  for  her  by  a  tree  down  there,  where  I  fast- 
ened her  after  I  made  believe  go  back  to  the  mill.  Do 
you  know  I  have  been  really  anxious  about  leaving  poor 
Sophie  so  in  God's  keeping !  I  hid  her  well  in  the 
branches ;  but  if  some  of  the  vagabonds  who  always 
come  for  the  assembly  should  have  taken  a  fancy  to  trick 
her  away  from  me  I  While  you  were  billing  and  cooing 
down  there,  Sophie  ran  in  my  head  !  —  " 

"  Let  us  go  together  and  find  her  !  " 

"  No,  no,  not  so !  You  are  always  ready  enough  to 
turn  back  towards  the  chateau,  I  see  that  well  enough ! 
Go  on,  and  tell  my  mother  to  go  to  bed  without  troubling 
herself;  I  may  come  home  rather  late.  M.  Tailland, 
the  notary,  will  keep  me  to  sup.  He  loves  his  ease,  is  a 
bit  of  a  gourmand  and  a  kind  man.  Thus  I  shall  have 
time  to  talk  to  him  about  the  Blanchemont  affairs,  and 
Sophie  will  eat  her  measure  without  asking  his  advice." 

Lemor  did  not  insist  upon  accompanying  his  friend. 
Whatever  affection  and  gratitude  he  felt  towards  the  good 
miller,  he  preferred  to  be  alone,  after  the  evening's  emo- 
tions. He  longed  to  think  of  Marcelle  without  disturb- 
ance, and  to  retrace  the  sweet  dream  he  had  just  enjoyed 
at  her  feet,  and  he  took  the  way  to  Angibault  very  much 
as  a  somnambulist  takes  that  to  his  bed.  I  know  not 
whether  he  followed  the  direct  road,  whether  he  crossed 
the  river  by  the  bridge,  whether  he  doubled  his  distance, 
or  often  forgot  himself  by  the  fountain  margins.  The 
night  was  full  of  transport ;  and  from  the  cock  that 
roused  the  cabin  echoes  with  his  trumpet  cry  to  the 
cricket  mysteriously  chirping  in  the  grass,  everything 
seemed  to  him  to  repeat,  in  tones  of  triumph  or  secrecy, 
the  cherished  name  of  Marcelle. 

But  when  he  arrived  at  the  mill,  he  felt  so  worn  with 

fatigue,  that,  as  soon  as  he  had  told  the  miller's  good 

mother  not  to  wait  for  her  son,  he  threw  himself  on  the 

little  bed  that  Louis  had  had  prepared  for  him  in  his  own 

14 


210  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 

chamber.  Grand'-Marie,  having  warned  Jean  to  wake 
quickly  and  not  make  his  master  wait,  when  he  wanted 
him  to  put  Sophie  in  the  stable,  went,  also,  to  rest.  But 
maternal  tenderness  sleeps  with  but  one  eye  shut ;  and  as 
a  storm  came  up,  the  good  woman  waked  with  a  start 
at  every  peal  of  thunder  that  passed  over  the  valley, 
thinking  that  she  heard  her  son  knocking  at  Jean's  door 
in  the  mill.  When  the  day  broke,  she  rose  softly  and 
went  to  advise  him  not  to  make  too  much  noise,  because 
Grand-Louis,  who  had  doubtless  returned  late,  would 
need  to  sleep  longer  than  usual.  She  was  much  sur- 
prised, and  almost  alarmed,  when  Jean  answered  that  his 
master  had  not  yet  returned. 

"  Impossible  ! "  said  she.  "  He  never  sleeps  out  when 
he  goes  only  to  Blanchemont." 

"  Ah !  bah !  mistress,  it  is  the  eve  of  the  fete.  No- 
body sleeps  over  there.  The  wine-shops  are  open  all 
night.  The  bag-pipers  come  in  playing  their  finest 
marches,  enough  to  set  one's  heart  a-dancing ;  they  wish 
it  were  already  the  morrow ;  nobody  goes  to  bed,  for 
fear  of  oversleeping,  and  losing  ever  so  little  of  the  fun. 
The  master  has  been  amused,  and  has  made  a  whiit 
night  of  it." 

''  The  master  does  not  spend  his  nights  in  wine-shops,' 
answered  the  mother,  shaking  her  head,  after  opening  tho 
stable-door  to  see  if  Sophie  were  not  at  the  manger.  "  I 
thought,"  she  added,  "  that  he  had  come  back  without 
choosing  to  wake  thee,  Jean.  It  is  hard  to  him  ;  he  had 
rather  wait  on  himself  than  disturb  a  child  like  thee, 
who  sleepest  like  a  log.  But  he  cannot  have  slept !  He 
was  very  tired,  too  ;  day  before  yesterday  he  had  a  long 
journey.  He  went  to  bed  late  that  night,  and  now  this, 
not  at  all !  —  " 

Grand'-Marie  began  her  holiday  toilet  with  a  deep 
sigh.  "  This  wretched  love  !  '*  thought  she,  "  it  is  that 
which  torments  him,  and  keeps  him  on  foot  day  and 
night.     How  will  it  all  end  with  him  ?  " 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT.  211 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

SOPHIE. 

'  I  ^HE  good  old  woman  was  lost  in  her  sad  thoughts  ; 
■^  and,  after  the  custom  of  some  old  people,  she  ex- 
pressed them  aloud,  as  she  went  from  her  closet  to  her 
dressing-table,  mechanically  busied  with  preparing  her 
antique  corsage,  with  basque  skirts,  and  the  plaid  chintz 
apron  which  she  had  fondly  preserved  from  her  youth, 
holding  it  in  high  esteem,  because  it  had  cost  then  four 
times  as  much  as  would  now  buy  a  much  handsomer 
stuff. 

"  Do  not  grieve  about  it,  mother,"  said  Grand-Louis, 
who  had  heard  her  from  the  threshold  of  the  door,  where 
he  had  just  come  without  her  perceiving  him  ;  "  all  this  will 
end  as  it  best  can ;  but  your  son  will  always  try  to  make 
you  happy." 

"Eh!  my  poor  child,  I  did  not  see  thee!"  said  the 
mother,  a  little  ashamed,  even  at  her  age,  at  being  sur- 
prised by  her  son  with  her  long  gray  hair  fallen  over  her 
shoulders  ;  for  in  her  time  the  peasant  women  of  the 
Black  Valley  held  the  concealment  of  their  hair  as  an  ex- 
treme point  of  modesty.  But  Grand'-Marie  soon  forgot 
this  impulse  of  superannuated  prudery,  on  seeing  the 
miller's  paleness  and  disorder. 

"Jesus!  my  God!"  said  she,  clasping  her  hands; 
"  how  tired  thou  art !  One  would  say  that  all  the  night's 
rain  had  poured  on  thee  !  And  truly,  thou  art  yet  damp. 
Go  quick,  and  change  thy  clothes.  Couldst  thou  not  find 
a  house  to  shelter  thee?  And  how  wretchedly  thou 
lookest  this  morning !  Ah,  my  poor  boy,  one'  would 
say  thou  wert  trying  to  make  thyself  sick  !  " 

"Eh!  mother,  do  not  worry  yourself  so!"  said  the 
miller,   forcing   his  habitual   air   of  cheerfulness.      "  I 


212  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 

passed  the  night  under  shelter  with  friends  —  people  with 
whom  I  had  business,  and  who  made  me  stay  to  supper. 
1  only  got  a  little  wet  because  I  came  home  on  foot." 

**  On  foot?  and  what  hast  thou  done  with  Sophie?" 

"I  —  lent  her  to  —  something  —  down  there  —  " 

"To  whom?  something  down  there?  " 

''  Don't  you  know  ?  Bah  !  I  will  tell  you  by  and  by. 
If  you  want  to  go  to  the  Assembly,  I  will  take  the  little 
black  mare,  and  you  shall  ride  on  a  pillion." 

"  Thou  wert  wrong  to  lend  Sophie,  my  child.  She  has 
not  her  equal,  and  should  be  spared.  I  had  rather  see 
thee  lend  both  the  others." 

"  So  had  I.  But  what  would  you  have?  It  so  hap- 
pened. Come,  mother,  I  will  go  and  dress,  and  you  will 
call  me  when  you  are  ready  to  go." 

"  No,  no,  I  see  that  thou  hast  not  tasted  sleep  this 
night,  and  thou  must  take  a  nap.  There  is  still  plenty  of 
time  before  the  hour  for  mass.  Ah  !  Grand-Louis,  how 
thou  dost  look !  it  is  not  worth  while  to  run  such  a 
race ! "  ' 

"  Be  easy,  mother ;  I  do  not  feel  sick,  and  I  shall  not 
do  so  often.  One  must  be  a  little  crack-brained  some- 
times ! " 

And  the  miller,  still  more  dejected  at  having  troubled 
his  mother,  whose  uneasiness  and  displeasure  were  never 
expressed  without  extreme  gentleness  and  wise  reserve, 
went  and  flung  himself  on  his  bed  with  an  angry  move- 
ment, which  awakened  Lemor. 

'"Are  you  getting  up  already?"  said  the  latter,  rub- 
bing his  eyes. 

"  Not  at  all ;  I  am  going  to  bed,  so  please  you,"  an- 
swered the  miller,  beating  up  his  bed  with  his  fist. 

"Friend,  you  are  unhappy!"  returned  Lemor,  thor- 
oughly awakened  by  the  unequivocal  signs  of  Grand- 
Louis's  inward  rage. 

"Unhappy?  Yes,  sir,  I  confess  it;  perhaps  more  so 
than  the  thing  is  worth  ;  but,  in  short,  it  gives  me  more 
pain  than  I  could  wish.     I  cannot  help  it." 

And  large  tears  rolled  from  the  miller's  weary  eyes. 

"  My  friend  !  "  cried  Lemor,  leaping  from  his  bed,  and 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGILAULT.  213 

beginning  rapidly  to  dress  himself,  "  I  plainly  see  that 
some  misfortune  has  happened  to  you  this  night !  And 
I  sleeping  here  so  quietly !  My  God !  what  can  I  do  ? 
where  shall  I  run  ?  " 

"  Ah !  do  not  start,  it  is  useless,"  said  Grand-Louis, 
shrugging  his  shoulders,  as  if  ashamed  of  his  weakness  ; 
"  I  have  run  enough  to-night  for  nothing,  and  here  I  am  at 
my  wits'  end —  and  for  a  piece  of  nonsense,  after  all ! 
But  what  would  you  have  !  one  is  as  fond  of  an  animal  as 
of  a  person,  and  regrets  an  old  horse  like  an  old  friend. 
You  do  not  understand  this,  you  city  people,  but  we  good 
country  folks,  we  live  with  our  beasts,  and  there  is  no 
great  difference  between  us  !  " 

"  And  you  have  lost  Sophie,  I  understand?  " 

"Lost?  yes,  that  is  to  say  somebody  has  stolen  her 
from  me." 

"Yesterday,  perhaps,  in  the  warren?" 

"  Exactly.  You  remember  that  I  had  a  sort  of  pre- 
sentiment of  evil?  When  you  left  me,  I  went  back  to  the 
place  where  I  had  snugly  hidden  her,  and  from  which  the 
poor  beast,  as  patient  as  a  lamb,  would  not  certainly  have 
loosened  herself —  she  never  broke  rein  or  halter  in  her 
life.  Well,  sir,  horse  and  bridle,  all  had  disappeared  ! 
I  searched,  I  ran  —  nothing !  Then,  too,  I  dared  not 
ask  much  about  her,  especially  at  the  farm ;  what  would 
they  have  thought?  They  would  have  asked  me  how  I 
could  have  lost  my  beast  on  the  way,  when  I  started  on 
her  back.  They  would  have  believed  me  drunk,  and 
Mme.  Bricoliu  would  not  have  failed  to  represent  to 
Mile.  Rose  that  I  had  met  with  some  ugly  adventure, 
unworthy  of  a  man  who  thinks  of  nothing  in  the  world 
but  her.  I  thought  at  first  that  some  one  wanted  to  play 
me  a  trick.  I  went  into  all  the  houses.  All  the  town 
was  still  on  foot.  I  dropped  in  at  one  place  and  another, 
without  seeming  to  have  any  purpose.  I  entered  every 
stable,  even  that  of  the  chateau,  without  being  seen  ;  no 
Sophie  !  Blanchemont  is  filled  at  this  time  with  people 
of  every  flour ^  and  there  is  certainly  some  cunning  rogue 
in  the  number  who  came  on  foot,  and  has  gone  back  on 
horseback,  thinking  that  he  need  see  no  more  of  the  fete, 


214  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 

as  it  has  been  good  enough  for  liim  before  its  com- 
mencement. Come,  we  must  not  think  of  it  any  longer. 
Luckily,  I  did  not  lose  my  wits  in  the  midst  of  all  this, 
I  went  on  Shank's  mare  to  La  Chatre.  I  saw  my  notary  ; 
it  was  rather  late  ;  he  had  done  supper,  and  was  rather 
heavy  while  digesting  it ;  but  he  promised  me  to  be  at  the 
fete.  When  I  left  him,  I  still  searched  and  beat  the 
thickets  like  a  night  hunter.  I  ran  through  the  rain  and 
thunder  till  daylight,  still  hoping  that  I  should  find  my 
thief  hidden  somewhere.  In  vain !  I  do  not  wish  to 
make  a  noise  about  my  misfortune,  for  it  would  create 
gossip ;  and  if  inquiry  should  be  instituted,  it  would  be  a 
nice  story  for  us,  of  a  horse  hidden  in  the  warren  and  left 
there  for  an  hour,  without  my  being  able  to  explain  why 
and  how.  I  had  put  her  at  some  distance  from  your  ren- 
dezvous, so  that  if  she  should  move  a  little,  the  noise 
would  not  draw  attention  toward  you.  Poor  Sophie  !  I 
ought  to  have  trusted  to  her  good  sense.  She  would  not 
have  stirred ! " 

"  Thus  I  am  the  cause  of  this  misfortune !  Grand- 
Louis,  I  am  more  sorry  for  it  than  you,  and  you  will 
certainly  permit  me  to  indemnify  you  as  much  as  is  in  my 
power." 

"  Silence,  sir !  I  care  nothing  for  the  slight  sum  that 
the  old  creature  might  have  brought  at  a  fair  I  Do  you 
think  I  should  feel  this  anxiety  about  a  hundred  or  so  of 
francs  ?  Oh,  no,  indeed  !  it  is  she  that  I  regret,  and  not 
her  price  ;  she  had  none  in  my  eyes.  She  was  so  cour- 
ageous, so  intelligent,  she  knew  me  so  well !  I  am  sure 
that  at  this  moment  she  is  thinking  of  me,  and  looking 
askan(;e  upon  whoever  is  taking  care  of  her !  If 
he  would  but  take  good  care  of  her !  If  I  were 
sure  of  that,  I  should  be  almost  consoled.  But  he  will 
rub  her  down  with  his  whip-handle,  and  feed  her  on 
chestnut  burrs !  For  it  must  be  some  knave  from  La 
Marche  who  will  take  her  to  his  mountains  to  feed  in  a 
field  of  stones,  instead  of  her  pretty  little  meadow  by  the 
water-side,  where  she  lived  so  well,  and  where  she  would 
still  play  with  the  young  fillies,  when  the  sight  of  the 
green   grass   put  her  in  fine   good   humor !      And   my 


THE  MILLER    OF  ANGIBAULT.  215 

mother  !  how  she  will  grieve  !  Besides,  I  can  never  tell 
her  how  the  misfortune  happened.  I  have  not  had 
courage  yet  to  tell  her  at  all.  Do  not  mention  it  to  her 
till  I  have  contrived  some  story  to  make  the  news  less 
bitter  to  her." 

There  was  something  at  once  comic  and  touching  in 
the  simple  lamentation  of  the  miller  ;  and  Lemor,  grieved 
at  being  the  cause  of  his  sorrow,  was  so  much  moved  by 
it,  that  the  kind-hearted  Louis  undertook  to  comfort  him. 

"  Come,  come,"  said  he,  "  here  is  enough  nonsense 
about  a  four-legged  creature.  I  know  very  well  that  it  is 
not  your  fault,  and  I  did  not  for  an  instant  think  of  re- 
proaching you  with  it.  Let  it  not  spoil  the  remembrance 
of  your  happiness,  friend !  it  is  but  a  small  price  to  pay 
for  so  sweet  an  hour  as  you  spent  during  that  time  ! 
And  if  I  ever  had  a  rendezvous  with  Rose  myself,  I 
should  not  mind  riding  horseback  on  a  broomstick  all  my 
life !  Now,  do  not  tell  Mme.  Marcelle  about  it.  It 
would  be  like  her  to  give  me  a  horse  worth  1,000  francs, 
and  that  would  really  hurt  me.  I  do  not  want  to  attach 
myself  again  to  animals.  There  is  enough  trouble  in 
life  with  people  !  Do  you,  I  say,  think  of  your  love,  and 
of  making  yourself  fine,  but  still  in  peasant  fashion,  to 
go  to  the  fete,  for  you  must  let  your  face  begin  to  be 
known  in  the  country.  That  will  be  better  than  hiding 
yourself,  which  would  start  suspicion  at  once.  You  will 
see  Mme.  Marcelle.  You  will  not  speak  to  her,  indeed  ! 
Besides,  you  will  have  no  opportunity,  she  will  not  dance  ; 
she  is  in  deep  mourning !  but  Rose  is  not,  faith  !  and  I 
count  upon  dancing  with  her  till  night,  now  that  the  dear 
papa  gives  consent.  And  that  makes  me  think  that  I 
must  sleep  a  couple  of  hours,  so  as  not  to  look  like  one 
dug  up  from  the  grave.  Do  not  vex  yourself  any  more  ; 
you  will  hear  me  snore  in  five  minutes." 

The  miller  kept  his  word ;  and  when  towards  ten 
o'clock  his  black  mare,  much  handsomer  but  less  beloved 
than  Sophie,  was  brought  him,  when  dressed  in  his  Sun- 
day garb  of  fine  cloth,  his  chin  well  shaved,  his  color 
fresh  and  his  eye  bright,  he  pressed  his  powerful  steed 
between  his  long  legs,  his  mother,  seating  herself  behind 


2i6  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 

him  by  the  help  of  a  chair  and  Lemor's  arm,  felt  a  sensa- 
tion of  pride  at  being  the  mother  of  the  handsome  miller. 

They  had  slept  no  better  at  the  farm  than  at  the  mill ; 
and  we  are  obliged  to  retrace  our  steps,  to  put  the  reader 
in  possession  of  the  events  that  took  place  there  on  the 
night  preceding  the  fete. 

Lemor,  divided  between  the  painful  agitation  caused 
him  by  his  strange  rencontre  with  the  maniac,  and  the  de- 
lirious joy  of  seeing  Marcelle  again,  had  not  remarked, 
while  in  the  warren,  that  the  miller  was  not  much  calmei 
than  himself.  Grand-Louis  had  found  the  farm-yard  full 
of  noise  and  stir.  Two  pataches  and  three  cabriolets, 
which  had  brought  within  their  solid  walls  all  the  rela- 
tions of  the  Bricolius,  were  reposing  upon  their  weary 
shafts  along  the  stables  and  manure  heaps.  All  the  poor 
neighbors,  eager  to  earn  a  scanty  pittance,  had  been  put 
in  requisition  to  help  in  preparing  the  supper  of  the 
guests,  who  were  more  numerous  and  more  hungry  than 
had  been  expected  at  the  new  chateau.  M.  Bricolin, 
more  vain  of  showing  his  opulence  than  annoyed  at  the 
expense  involved,  was  in  the  best  possible  humor.  His 
daughters,  his  sons,  his  cousins,  nephews,  and  sons-in- 
law,  each  in  turn  privately  inquired  how  soon  the  old 
chateau  would  be  repaired  and  re-stuccoed,  with  the  Bric- 
olin cypher  as  an  escutcheon  over  the  door. 

"  For  thou  wilt  soon  be  lord  and  master  of  Blanche- 
mont,"  said  they  in  common  chorus,  "  and  thou  wilt  man- 
age tliy  fortune  somewhat  better  than  all  those  counts  and 
barons  to  whom  thou  wilt  succeed,  to  the  greater  glory  of 
the  new  aristocracy,  the  nobility  of  hard  money."  Bric- 
olin was  quite  intoxicated  with  pride  ;  and  while  replying 
with  a  sly  smile  to  his  dear  relatives,  "  Not  yet,  not  yet  I 
never,  perhaps  !  "  he  delightedly  assumed  all  the  impor- 
tance of  a  lord  chatelain.  He  paid  no  further  regard  to 
expense,  and,  swelling  his  portly  person  like  a  turkey- 
cock,  thundered  his  orders  to  his  servants,  his  mother, 
daughter,  and  wife.  The  whole  house  was  in  confusion. 
Mother  Bricolin  was  plucking  scarcely-dead  chickens  by 
the  dozen,  and  Mme.  Bricolin,  who  had  been  at  first  ex- 
tremely cross  and  peevish  amidst  the  tumult  of  the  kitchen, 


THE  MILLER    OF  ANGIBAULT.  217 

began  also,  in  her  way,  to  be  merry,  on  seeing  the  ample 
repast,  the  ready  chambers,  and  the  gratifying  admira- 
tion of  her  guests.  It  was  under  favor  of  all  this  dis- 
order that  the  miller  was  able  easily  to  speak  with 
Marcelle,  and  that  she,  excusing  herself  on  account  of  a 
headache,  had  withdrawn  from  the  supper,  and,  during 
the  festival,  joined  Lemor  at  the  foot  of  the  warren. 

Rose  herself,  while  the  table  was  setting,  had  found 
more  than  one  excellent  pretext  for  straying  into  the 
court,  and  saying  a  friendly  word  or  so  in  passing  Grand- 
Louis,  as  she  was  used  to  do.  But  her  mother,  who 
scarcely  lost  sight  of  her,  soon  discovered  the  means  of 
ridding  herself  quickly  of  the  miller.  Obliged  to  sub- 
mit to  the  commands  of  her  husband,  who  had  impera- 
tively enjoined  upon  her  not  to  be  rude  to  Grand-Louis, 
she  conceived  the  idea  of  satisfying  her  own  hatred,  and 
making  Rose  ashamed  of  her  friendship  for  him,  by  rid- 
iculing him  in  concert  with  her  other  daughters,  and  her 
female  relations,  who  were  all,  young  and  old,  sufficiently 
malicious  and  insolent  to  assist  her.  She  hastily  and  con- 
fidentially told  each  one  that  this  village  wit  fancied  him- 
self agreeable  to  her  daughter ;  that  Rose  knew  nothing 
of  it,  and  paid  no  attention  to  it ;  that  M.  Bricolin,  not 
wishing  to  believe  it,  treated  him  with  far  too  much  kind- 
ness ;  but  that  she  had  from  good  authority  learned  a 
curious  fact,  to  wit,  that  the  handsome  miller^  the  pet  of  all 
the  abandoned  girls  in  the  country,  had  often  boasted  that 
he  could  please  the  richest  bourgeoise  whom  it  might  suit 
him  to  court,  one  as  well  as  anotlier,  —  and  hereupon 
Mme.  Bricolin  named  those  present,  laughing,  meanwhile, 
sharply  and  scornfully,  tucking  up  her  apron,  and  setting 
her  arms  akimbo. 

From  the  female  part  of  the  family,  the  confidence  was 
rapidly  passed  in  whispers  to  all  the  Bricolins  of  the  other 
sex,  so  that  Grand-Louis,  who  thought  of  nothing  but  go- 
ing to  join  Lemor,  found  himself  suddenly  assailed  by 
epigrams  so  flat  as  to  be  incomprehensible,  and  his  retreat 
accompanied  by  half-stifled  laughter,  and  whisperings  of 
extreme  impertinence.  Not  comprehending  the  mirth 
which  he  excited,  he  left  the  farm  uneasy,  anxious,  and 


2i8  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 

full  of  contempt  for  the  coarse  wit  of  the  country  bour- 
geois whom  this  eveninf^  had  gathered  at  Blanchemont. 

According  to  Mme.  Bricolin's  advice,  care  was  taken 
that  M.  Bricolin  should  not  perceive  the  conspiracy,  and 
all  engaged  to  persecute  the  miller  in  Rose's  presence  the 
next  day.  "  It  was  necessary,"  said  her  mother,  "  to  hu- 
miliate this  workman  before  her  eyes,  to  teach  her  not  to 
follow  her  good  heart  too  far,  but  keep  peasants  at  a  dis- 
tance." 

After  supper  the  fiddlers  were  sent  for,  and  there  was 
dancing  in  the  court  in  anticipation  of  the  morrow.  It 
was  in  an  interval  of  quiet  that  the  miller,  uneasy,  and  in 
haste  to  go  to  La  Chatre,  had  asserted  that  the  evening's 
amusement  was  over  at  the  new  chateau,  and  had  forced 
the  lovers  to  part  much  sooner  than  they  wished. 

When  Marcelle  returned  to  the  farm,  the  diversion  was 
resumed  ;  and  feeling  the  same  need  of  solitude  and  thought 
that  had  carried  Lemor  into  the  windings  of  the  Black 
Valley,  she  returned  to  the  warren,  and  walked  there 
slowly  till  midnight.  The  sound  of  the  bagpipe,  joined 
to  that  of  the  hurdy-gurdy,  is  rather  agonizing  to  the  ears, 
when  near ;  but,  from  a  distance,  there  is  a  charm  in 
their  rustic  tones,  and  in  the  barbaric  harmony  which 
gives  originality  to  their  frequently  charming  melodies, 
that  penetrates  simple  natures,  and  sends  a  peculiar  thrill 
to  the  hearts  of  those  who  remember  the  sound  in  their 
happy  childhood.  The  strong  vibration  of  the  bagpipe, 
although  harsh  and  nasal,  and  the  piercing  cry  and  ener- 
getic staccato  of  the  hurdy-gurdy,  are  made  for  one  an- 
other, and  mutually  correct  each  other.  Marcelle  listened 
to  them  with  pleasure  for  some  time,  and  observing  that 
distance  increased  their  charm,  she  strolled  to  the  extrem- 
ity of  the  warren,  lost  in  visions  of  a  pastoral  life,  in 
wliich,  it  may  easily  be  conceived,  her  love  made  all  bur- 
dens light. 

But  she  suddenly  stopped  on  seeing,  almost  under  her 
feet,  the  maniac  stretched  on  the  ground,  motionless,  and 
apparently  dead.  Notwithstanding  the  disgust  which  she 
felt  at  the  shocking  uncleanliness  of  the  unfortunate  crea- 
ture, she  determined,  after  vainly  attempting  to  rouse  her, 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 


219 


to  lift  her  in  her  arms,  and  succeeded  in  dragging  her  for 
some  distance.  She  leaned  her  against  a  tree,  and  not 
feeling  strength  to  carry  her  further,  was  about  to  go  and 
call  help  from  the  farm,  when  Bricoline  began  to  recover 
from  her  torpor,  and  to  push  away  with  her  bony  hand 
the  long  hair,  rough  with  grass  and  sand,  that  hung  over 
her  face.  Marcelle  helped  her  remove  this  thick  veil, 
which  stifled  her  breath,  and  daring  for  the  first  time  to 
speak  to  her,  asked  if  she  were  in  pain. 

"  Certainly  1  am  in  pain  !  "  answered  the  maniac,  with 
shocking  indifference,  and  in  the  same  tone  with  which 
she  might  have  said  —  "I  am  still  alive  ;"  then  she  added, 
in  a  brief  and  imperious  voice:  "Hast  thou  seen  him? 
He  has  returned.  He  will  not  speak  to  me.  Did  he  tell 
thee  why?" 

••'  He  told  me  that  he  would  come  back,"  said  Marcelle, 
trying  to  indulge  her  lunacy. 

"  Oh,  he  will  not  come  back  !"  cried  the  madwoman, 
impetuously  rising  ;  "  he  will  never  come  back  !  He  is 
afraid  of  me.  Everybody  is  afraid  of  me,  because  I  am 
very  rich,  very  rich  !  So  rich  that  I  am  forbidden  to  live  ! 
But  I  will  be  rich  no  longer  ;  to-morrow  I  will  be  poor. 
It  is  time  the  end  came.  To-morrow  everybody  shall  be 
poor.  Thou  shalt  be  poor  too.  Rose,  and  thou  shalt  no 
longer  frighten  people.  I  will  punish  the  wretches  who 
would  kill  me,  shut  me  up,  poison  me  — " 

"  But  there  are  some  people  who  pity  you,  and  only 
wish  you  well,"  said  Marcelle. 

"  No,  there  are  none  ! "  replied  the  maniac,  angrily,  and 
fearfully  excited.  "  They  are  all  my  enemies.  They 
have  tortured  me,  they  have  driven  red-hot  iron  into  my 
brain.  They  have  nailed  me  to  trees.  They  have 
thrown  me  more  than  a  thousand  times  from  the  top  of 
the  towers  upon  the  stones.  They  have  pierced  my  heart 
with  long  steel  needles.  They  have  flayed  me  alive ; 
that  is  "vvhy  I  cannot  now  dress  myself  without  feeling 
horrible  pain.  They  would  have  torn  off  my  hair  because 
it  gave  me  some  defence  from  their  blows.  But  I  will 
be  avenged !  I  have  drawn  up  a  complaint ;  fifty-four 
years  1  have  been  writing  it  in  every  language,  that  it  may 


220  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT, 

reach  every  sovereign  in  the  universe.  I  will  have  them 
restore  me  Paul,  whom  they  have  hidden  in  their  cellar, 
and  abuse  as  they  do  me.  I  hear  him  scream  every  night 
when  they  torture  him  —  I  know  his  voice.  Hark ! 
hark!  do  you  hear  him?"  she  continued,  in  an  agonized 
voice,  listening  to  the  merry  notes  of  the  bagpipe. 
"  You  see  that  they  are  making  him  suffer  a  thousand 
deaths !  They  will  devour  him,  but  they  shall  be  pun- 
ished, punished !  To-morrow,  I,  too,  will  make  them 
suffer !  They  shall  suffer  so  that  I  shall  take  pity  my- 
self—" 

Thus  speaking  with  frantic  volubility,  the  unhappy 
creature  darted  through  the  thickets,  and  rushed  towards 
the  farm,  while  it  was  impossible  for  Marcelle  to  follow 
her  rapid  course  and  impetuous  leaps. 


THE  MILLER    OF  ANGIBAULT.  22 1 


CHAPTEK    XXVI. 

THE   EVE    OF   THE   FETE. 

A  T  the  farm  the  dance  was  kept  up  more  pertinaciously 
"*■■  ^  than  ever.  The  servants  entered  into  the  pleasure, 
and  a  thick  dust  rose  from  under  their  feet,  but  neither  that 
inconvenience,  nor  stones,  sun,  rain,  or  the  fatigue  of 
harvest  or  mowing,  ever  yet  prevented  the  Berrichon 
peasant  from  dancing  with  enthusiasm.  No  people  dance 
with  more  mingled  sobriety  and  passion.  To  see  them 
advance  and  retreat  in  the  bourree,  so  gently  and  reg- 
ularly that  their  crowded  ranks  resemble  the  pendulum  of 
a  clock,  one  would  never  guess  the  pleasure  they  derive 
from  this  monotonous  exercise,  and  would  still  less  sus- 
pect the  difficulty  of  seizing  its  elementary  rhythm,  which 
must  be  marked  with  rigorous  precision  by  every  step 
and  every  attitude  of  the  body,  while,  to  attain  perfec- 
tion, the  labor  must  be  entirely  concealed  by  great  gravity 
of  movement  and  an  apparent  languor.  But  after  watch- 
ing them  some  time,  one  is  astonished  at  their  indefat- 
igable endurance,  and  appreciates  the  kind  of  soft  and 
simple  grace  which  preserves  them  from  lassitude ;  and 
certainly  an  observation  of  the  same  persons  dancing 
ten  or  twelve  hours  together  without  weariness,  would 
make  one  believe  that  they  were  bit  by  a  tarantula,  or 
prove  that  they  are  passionately  fond  of  dancing.  Now 
and  then  the  inward  joy  of  the  young  men  is  revealed  by  a 
peculiar  cry  which  they  give  without  losing  the  imperturb- 
able composure  of  their  faces,  and,  at  times,  with  a  for- 
cible stamp  of  the  foot,  they  bound  like  young  bulls,  falling 
back  with  careless  flexibility  and  resuming  their  phleg- 
matic, swinging  motion.  The  Berrichon  character  is  com- 
pletely portrayed  in  this  dance.     As  for  the  women,  they 


222  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 

must  iuvariably  glide  along  the  ground  so  as  to  graze  the 
soil,  which  demands  more  lightness  than  might  be  thought, 
and  their  graces  are  marked  by  a  rigid  propriety. 

Rose  danced  the  bourree  as  well  as  a  peasant  girl, 
which  is  no  little  praise,  and  her  father  watched  her  with 
pride.  Everybody  was  gay  and  lively,  and  the  musi- 
cians, their  thirst  well  satisfied,  spared  neither  their  arms 
nor  lungs.  The  dancers  looked  more  graceful  in  the  half 
obscurity  of  a  fine  night,  and,  above  all,  the  charming 
Eose,  who  seemed  to  glide  like  a  white  sea-bird  over 
calm  waters,  and  to  be  borne  along  on  the  evening 
breeze.  The  melancholy  which  was  cast  over  all  her 
movements  this  evening,  made  her  more  beautiful  than 
usual. 

Still  Rose  was  at  heart  a  true  peasant  girl  of  the  Black 
Valley  in  all  her  native  simplicity,  and  took  pleasure  in 
the  dance,  were  it  only  to  be  in  practice  to  answer  the 
numerous  invitations  which  Grand-Louis  would  not  fail 
to  give  her  the  next  day.  But  suddenly  the  bagpiper 
lost  his  footing  upon  the  cask  which  served  him  as  pedes- 
tal, and  tlie  wind  contained  in  his  instrument  escaped  in 
a  strange  and  plaintive  tone,  that  caused  all  the  astonished 
dancers  to  stop  and  turn  towards  him.  At  the  same  mo- 
ment, the  hurdy-gurdy,  rudely  snatched  from  the  hands 
of  the  other  musician,  rolled  at  the  feet  of  Rose,  and  the 
maniac  leaped  from  the  rustic  orchestra  upon  which  she 
had  sprung  with  a  bound  like  a  v/ild-cat's,  and  threw  her- 
self into  the  midst  of  the  bourree,  crying,  "  Woe,  woe  to 
the  assassins !  Woe  to  the  executioners  !  "  Then  she 
flung  herself  upon  her  mother,  who  had  advanced  to  re- 
strain her,  seized  her  throat  with  her  claws,  and  would 
inevitably  have  strangled  her  if  the  old  Mother  Bricolia 
had  not  prevented  her,  by  taking  hold  of  her  round  the 
waist.  The  maniac  had  never  committed  any  act  of  vio- 
lence towards  her  grandmother,  whether  it  were  that, 
without  knowing  her,  she  retained  a  sort  of  instinctive 
love  for  her,  or  that  she  knew  her  alone  among  the  others, 
and  remembered  the  good  woman's  efforts  in  favor  of  her 
love.     She  made  no  resistance,  and  suffered  herself  to  be 


THE  MILLER    OF  ANGIBAULT. 


223 


drawn  into  the  house, 

filled  every  one  with  dismay  and  horror. 

When  Marcelle,  wdio  had  followed  the  elder  Mile.  Bric- 
olin  as  closely  as  she  could,  arrived  at  the  house,  she 
found  the  dance  interrupted,  everybody  frightened,  and 
Rose  nearly  fainting.  Mme.  Bricolin  doubtless  suffered 
inwardly,  were  it  only  at  the  exposure  of  this  household 
wound  to  all  eyes  ;  but  in  her  activity  in  restraining  the 
lunatic,  and  stifling  the  noise  of  her  screams,  thei^e  was 
something  violent  and  energetic,  more  like  the  firmness 
of  a  policeman  incarcerating  a  disturber  of  the  peace, 
than  the  solicitude  of  a  despairing  mother.  The  grand- 
mother showed  as  much  grief,  and  more  sensibility.  It 
was  a  sad  sight  to  see  the  poor  old  woman,  with  her 
harsh  voice  and  masculine  manners,  caressing  the  maniac, 
and  talking  to  her  as  to  a  child,  coaxing  and  flattering  by 
turns.  "  Come,  ray  darling,"  she  said,  "  tliou  always 
behavest  so  well,  thou  wilt  not  make  thy  grandmother 
unhappy?  Thou  must  go  quietly  to  bed,  or  else  I  shall 
be  vexed,  and  will  not  love  thee  any  more."  The  maniac 
understood  nothing  of  what  she  said,  and  did  not  even 
hear  it.  Clinging  to  the  foot  of  her  bed,  she  gave  vent 
to  fearful  howls  and  cries,  and  her  diseased  imagination 
persuaded  her  that  she  was  at  this  instant  enduring  the 
punishments  and  tortures  which  she  had  fantastically  de- 
picted to  Marcelle. 

The  latter,  after  assuring  herself,  first  of  all,  that  her 
child  was  sleeping  quietly  in  Fanchon's  care,  busied  her- 
self with  Rose,  who  was  distracted  with  fright  and  grief. 
It  was  the  first  time  that  Bricoline  had  given  vent  to  the 
hatred  accumulated  during  twelve  years  in  her  crushed 
heart.  Once  a  week,  at  most,  she  cried  and  wept  when 
her  grandmother  persisted  in  changing  her  garments. 
But  those  were  the  cries  of  a  child,  and  these  were  the 
shrieks  of  a  fury.  She  had  never  addressed  a  word  to 
any  one,  and  now,  for  the  first  time  in  twelve  years,  she 
had  uttered  threats.  She  had  never  struck  any  one,  and 
she  had  just  attempted  to  kill  her  mother.  In  short,  for 
twelve  years  this  mute  victim  of  her  parents'  avarice 
had  kept  her  inexpressible  suffering  to  herself,  and  they 


224 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 


had  accustomed  themselves,  with  a  sort  of  brutal  indiffer- 
ence, to  the  deplorable  spectacle.  They  were  no  longer 
afraid  of  her,  they  were  tired  of  pitying  her,  they  en* 
dured  her  presence  as  an  inevitable  misfortune  ;  and,  if 
there  were  remorse  in  their  hearts,  it  was  not  avowed, 
perhaps  even  to  themselves.  But  there  were  necessary 
recurrent  phases  in  the  terrible  disease  which  preyed  upon 
her,  and  the  time  had  come  when  her  misery  was  dan- 
gerous to  others.  It  was,  at  last,  necessary  to  attend  to 
it.  M.  Bricolin  sat  before  his  door,  listening  with  a  stu- 
pefied look  to  the  coarse  condolence  of  his  family. 

*'It  is  a  great  misfortune  for  you,"  said  one,  "  and  we 
have  seen  you  bear  it  already  too  long.  Such  patience  is 
beyond  human  strength,  and  you  must  finally  decide  to 
put  this  unfortunate  girl  in  a  mad-house.'* 

"  She  cannot  be  cured,"  replied  he,  shaking  his  head. 
*'  I  have  tried  everything.  It  is  impossible.  Her  disease 
is  too  severe  ;  she  must  die  of  it !  " 

"  That  might  be  the  happiest  thing  for  her.  You  see 
that  she  is  in  too  pitiful  a  state  here.  But  even  if  they 
could  not  cure  her,  you  would  be  spared  the  pain  of  see- 
ing her,  and  taking  care  of  her.  She  would  be  prevented 
from  injuring  you.  If  you  do  not  take  care,  she  will  end 
by  killing  somebody,  or  her  own  self,  before  your  eyes." 

"That  would  be  shocking!  But  what  will  you  have? 
I  have  told  her  mother  so  an  hundred  times,  and  yet 
she  will  not  part  from  her.  Trust  me,  she  loves  her 
still  in  her  heart,  and  that  may  well  be ;  mothers  always 
feel  something  for  their  children,  as  it  seems." 

"  But,  you  may  depend  on  it,  she  will  be  better  off  there 
than  here.  They  are  taken  very  good  care  of  now.  There 
are  handsome  establishments  where  they  want  for  nothing. 
They  are  kept  clean,  allowed  to  work  and  be  busy,  and  it 
is  even  said  that  they  are  amused,  taken  to  mass,  and  per- 
mitted to  hear  music." 

"  In  that  case  they  are  happier  than  at  home,"  said  M. 
Bricolin.  After  a  moment's  reflection,  he  added,  "  and 
does  all  this  cost  a  great  deal  ?  " 

Rose  was  deeply  affected.  She  was  the  only  one,  with 
the  exception  of  her  grandmother,  who  had  not  become 


THE  MILLER    OF  ANGIBAULT.  225 

insensible  to  the  grief  of  poor  Bricoline.  If  she  avoided 
speaking  of  it,  it  was  because  she  could  not  do  so  without 
accusing  her  parents  of  this  moral  filicide  committed  by 
them  ;  but  twenty  times  a  day  she  caught  herself  shudder- 
ing with  indignation  at  hearing  from  her  mother's  lips  the 
selfish  and  avaricious  maxims  to  which  her  sister  had  been 
sacrificed  before  her  eyes.  As  soon  as  she  recovered  from 
her  faintness,  she  wished  to  assist  her  grandmother  in  quiet- 
ing the  maniac  ;  but  Mme.  Bricolin,  fearing  lest  the  spec- 
tacle should  make  too  deep  an  impression,  and  having  a 
vague  instinct  that  excessive  grief  might  prove  contagious, 
even  in  its  physical  results,  sent  her  away  with  the  harsh- 
ness whicli  belonged  even  to  her  best  and  kindest  inten- 
tions. Rose  was  incensed  at  this  refusal,  and  returned 
to  her  chamber,  whicli  she  paced,  for  part  of  the  night, 
in  a  state  of  great  excitement,  but  abstaining  from  speech, 
for  fear  of  expressing  herself  too  strongly  with  regard  to 
her  parents,  before  Marcelle. 

Tlius  the  night,  which  had  opened  with  such  exquisite 
delight,  proved  extremely  painful  to  Mme.  de  Blanche- 
mont.  The  cries  of  the  maniac  ceased  at  intervals,  and 
were  then  renewed  more  terribly,  more  fearfully.  When 
they  stopped,  it  was  not  by  degrees  and  a  gradual  dim- 
inution, but,  on  the  contrary,  abruptly,  In  the  midst  of  their 
greatest  Intensity,  and  as  If  a  violent  death  had  suddenly 
interrupted  them, 

"Would  not  one  say  they  were  murdering  her?"  cried 
Rose,  pale,  and  hardly  able  to  support  herself  as  she 
walked  the  room.     "Yes,  it  seems  like  an  execution  !  " 

Marcelle  would  not  tell  her  what  frightful  torments  the 
maniac  really  believed  herself  enduring,  and  did  endure, 
in  her  thoughts,  at  that  moment.  She  concealed  from  her 
the  interview  she  had  had  with  her  in  the  park.  From 
time  to  time  she  went  to  see  the  sufferer.  She  found  her 
stretched  on  the  floor,  her  arms  tightly  clasped  round  the 
foot  of  her  bed,  and  almost  suffocated  with  exhaustion 
from  screaming,  but  her  eyes  open,  fixed,  and  her  mind 
evidently  in  perpetual  activity.  Her  grandmother  knelt 
beside  her,  trying  In  vain  to  slip  a  pillow  under  her  head, 
IS 


236  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGJBAULT. 

or  introduce  a  spoonful  of  a  soothing  potion  into  her  con- 
tracted mouth.  Mme.  Bricolin,  pale  and  motionless,  sat 
opposite  in  an  arm-chair,  and  her  resolute  and  strongly 
furrowed  countenance  bore  the  traces  of  deep  sorrow, 
which  would  not  confess  its  sin,  even  to  God.  Chounette, 
standing  in  a  corner,  sobbed  mechanically,  without  offer- 
ing her  services,  and  without  any  one's  thinking  of  de- 
manding them.  There  was  deep  despondency  in  these 
three  faces.  The  maniac  alone,  when  not  howling, 
seemed  to  revolve  dark  thoughts  of  hatred  in  her  brain. 
There  was  a  sound  of  snoring  in  the  next  room ;  but  M. 
Bricolin's  heavy  sleep  was  not  undisturbed,  and  from  time 
to  time  appeared  to  be  broken  by  bad  dreams.  Farther 
still,  beyond  the  opposite  partition.  Father  Bricolin  was 
heard  coughing  and  moaning  ;  ignorant  of  the  sufferings 
of  others,  the  little  strength  that  remained  to  him  was 
not  enough  to  support  his  own. 

At  length,  towards  three  in  the  morning,  the  violence 
of  the  storm  seemed  to  overpower  the  maniac's  exhausted 
organs.  She  fell  asleep  on  the  ground,  and  they  succeeded 
in  putting  her  into  bed  without  her  perceiving  it.  It  was 
doubtless  long  since  she  had  known  a  moment's  repose, 
for  her  sleep  was  deep  and  heavy  ;  and  everybody  was 
enabled  to  rest,  even  Rose,  to  whom  Mme.  de  Blauche- 
mont  hastened  with  the  favorable  news. 

If  Marcelle  had  not  found  this  occasion  to  devote  her- 
self to  poor  Rose,  she  would  have  repented  the  unlucky 
inspiration  which  had  brought  her  to  this  habitation  of 
avarice  and  misfortune.  She  would  have  hastened  to 
seek  another  shelter  than  this,  so  totally  un-beautiful,  so 
disagreeable  in  prosperity,  so  forlorn  in  adversity.  But 
to  whatever  new  discomfort  she  might  still  be  exposed, 
she  resolved  to  stay  while  she  could  be  of  assistance  to 
her  young  companion.  Happily  the  morning  was  calm. 
Everybody  slept  till  late,  and  Rose  had  not  waked  when 
Mme.  de  Blanchemont,  scarcely  awake  herself,  received 
from  Paris,  thanks  to  the  rapidity  of  our  present  com- 
munications, the  following  answer  to  the  letter  which  she 
had  written  to  her  mother-in-law  three  days  before : 


THE  MILLER    OF  ANGIBAULT. 


227 


Letter  of  the  Countess  of  Blanchemont  to  her  daughter-in-law ^ 
Marcelle,  Baroness  of  Blanchemont. 

"My  Daughter,  —  May  Providence,  who  sends  you  all 
this  courage,  mercifully  preserve  it  to  you  !  Great  as  it 
is,  I  am  not  astonished  at  it  from  you.  Do  not  praise 
mine.  At  my  age  one  has  not  long  to  suffer  !  At  yours 
—  happily  there  is  no  clear  idea  of  the  length  and  the 
difficulty  of  existence.  My  daughter,  your  plans  are 
praiseworthy,  excellent,  and  so  much  the  wiser  that  they 
are  necessary,  —  still  more  necessary  than  you  imagine. 
We,  too,  my  dear  Marcelle,  are  ruined !  and  it  may  be 
that  we  can  leave  nothing  as  an  inheritance  to  our  beloved 
grandson.  My  unhappy  son's  debts  exceed  all  that  you 
know,  all  that  could  have  been  foreseen.  We  shall  tem- 
porize with  the  creditors  ;  but  we  accept  the  responsi- 
bility, and  thereby  deprive  Edward  of  the  easy  fortune 
which  he  might  have  expected  at  our  decease.  Bring 
him  up,  then,  simply.  Teach  him  to  create  his  own  re- 
sources by  his  talents,  and  to  maintain  his  independence 
by  the  dignity  with  which  he  will  support  misfortune. 
When  he  is  a  man,  we  shall  be  no  longer  living.  Let 
him  respect  the  memory  of  the  old  grandparents  who  pre- 
ferred the  honor  of  a  gentleman  to  his  pleasures,  and 
whose  only  legacy  to  him  will  be  a  pure  and  unreproached 
name.  The  son  of  a  bankrupt  could  have  had  none  but 
dishonest  luxury  —  the  son  of  a  guilty  father  will  be,  at 
least,  under  some  obligation  to  those  who  have  sheltered 
his  life  from  public  condemnation. 

"  To-morrow,  I  will  give  you  details ;  to-day,  I  am 
stricken  by  the  discovery  of  this  new  abyss.  I  tell  you 
in  few  words.  I  know  that  you  can  understand  and  en- 
dure everything.  Adieu,  my  daughter  ;  I  admire  and  love 
you." 

*'  Edward  !  "  said  Marcelle,  covering  her  sleeping  boy 
with  kisses,  "  it  was  then  written  in  heaven  that  thou 
shouldst  have  the  glory,  and  perhaps  the  happiness,  of  not 
succeeding  to  the  wealth  and  rank  of  thy  fathers  !  So 
perish  great  fortunes,  the  work  of  ages,  in  one  day ! 
Thus  the  ancient  masters  of  the  world,  drawn  on  by  fa- 


228  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT, 

tality  yet  more  than  by  their  own  passions,  are  laden  with 
the  accomph'shment  of  the  decrees  of  that  Divine  wisdom 
which  labors  imperceptibly  for  the  levelling  of  all  mortal 
power !  Mayst  thou  some  day  comprehend,  oh,  my 
child,  that  this  law  of  Providence  is  kind  to  thee,  since  it 
throws  thee  among  the  sheep  at  Christ's  right  hand,  and 
separates  thee  from  the  goats  at  his  left !  My  God,  give 
me  the  wisdom  and  strength  necessary  to  make  of  this 
child  a  man  !  To  make  him  a  patrician,  I  should  have 
had  only  to  fold  my  arms,  and  let  riches  do  their  w^ork. 
Now  I  need  enlightenment  and  inspiration !  My  God, 
my  God !  Thou  hast  appointed  me  this  task !  Thou  wilt 
not  abandon  me  ! " 

''  Lemor,"  she  wrote  an  instant  later,  "  my  son  is 
ruined,  his  family  is  ruined.  My  child  is  poor.  He 
might  have  been  unworthy  and  contemptible  as  a  rich 
man.  He  must  now  be  made  courageous  and  noble  as  a 
poor  one.  Providence  has  reserved  this  mission  for  you. 
Now  will  you  ever  speak  of  abandoning  me  ?  Is  not  this 
child,  who  was  an  obstacle  between  us,  a  dear  and  sacred 
bond?  Unless  you  should  lose  your  love  for  me  in  a 
year,  who  now  can  oppose  our  happiness?  Take  courage, 
my  friend,  and  go  !  A  year  hence,  you  will  find  me  in 
some  cabin  in  the  Black  Valley,  not  far  from  the  mill  of 
Angibault." 

Marcelle  wrote  these  few  lines  with  lofty  emotion ;  and 
when  her  pen  traced  the  words,  "  Unless  you  should  lose 
your  love  for  me  in  a  year,"  an  imperceptible  smile  gave 
an  ineffable  expression  to  her  features.  She  enclosed  her 
mother-in-law's  letter  as  explanation,  and  sealing  the 
whole,  put  it  in  her  pocket,  thinking  that  it  would  not  be 
long  before  she  saw  the  miller,  and  perhaps  Lemor  him- 
self, in  the  peasant  costume  so  becoming  to  him. 

The  maniac  slept  all  the  day.  She  was  feverish,  but 
she  had  been  so  every  day  for  twelve  years,  and  her 
present  exhaustion,  which  was  an  entirely  new  symptom, 
augured  a  favorable  crisis.  The  physician  who  had  been 
called  from  the  town,  and  who  was  accustomed  to  seeing 
her,  did  not  think  her  ill  in  comparison  with  her  ordinary 
state.     Rose,  much  reassured,  and  restored  to  the  sweet 


THE  MILLER    OF  ANGIBAULT. 


229 


instincts  of  youth,  slowly  and  very  coquettishly  dressed 
herself.  She  wished  to  be  simple,  not  to  startle  her 
friend  by  making  a  display  of  her  wealth  before  him  — 
she  wished  to  look  well,  to  please  him.  So  she  sought 
out  the  most  ingenious  combinations,  and  succeeded  in 
being  modest  as  a  rustic  maiden,  and  beautiful  as  an 
angel  of  Paradise.  In  the  midst  of  all  her  grief,  she 
had  trembled  a  little,  without  being  willing  to  recognize 
the  feeling,  at  the  idea  of  losing  this  whole  bright  day. 
The  pleasure  of  enrapturing  for  a  whole  day  the  man  by 
whom  one  is  beloved  is  not  to  be  renounced  without 
regret,  at  eighteen  ;  and  this  fear,  unknown  to  herself, 
had  mingled  with  the  deep  and  sincere  sorrow  that  she 
had  felt  for  her  sister.  When  she  appeared  at  high  mass, 
Louis  had  been  long  watching  for  her  entrance.  He  was 
so  placed  as  not  to  lose  her  an  instant  from  his  sight. 
She  found  herself  accideutally  by  Grand'-Marie,  and  he 
was  deeply  touched  by  seeing  her  put  her  pretty  shawl 
under  his  mother's  knees,  in  spite  of  the  good  woman's 
refusal. 

After  the  service.  Rose  skilfully  took  the  arm  of  her 
grandmother,  who  was  accustomed  to  stay  by  her  old 
friend  Grand'-Marie,  whenever  she  had  the  pleasure  of 
meeting  her.  This  pleasure  became  more  unfrequent 
every  year,  as  age  rendered  the  distance  between  Blanche- 
mont  and  Angibault  more  difhcult  for  the  two  matrons  to 
pass  over.  Mother  Bricolin  loved  to  talk.  Continually 
*'  snubbed,"  as  she  said,  by  her  daughter-in-law,  she  had 
a  torrent  of  restrained  words  to  pour  into  the  bosom  of 
the  mill-dame,  who,  less  communicative,  but  sincerely  at- 
tached to  the  companion  of  her  childhood,  patiently  heard 
and  discriminately  replied. 

In  this  way  Rose  hoped  that  she  should  escape  Mme. 
Bricolin's  surveillance,  and  even  the  society  of  her  other 
relations,  all  day,  as  her  grandmother  much  preferred  in- 
tercourse with  the  peasants,  her  equals,  to  that  with  the 
parvenus  of  her  family. 

Beneath  the  old  trees  on  the  terrace,  opposite  a  charm- 
ing view,  the  crowd  of  pretty  girls  pressed  around  the 


230  THE   MILLER    OF  ANGIDAULT. 

musicians,  who,  placed  in  pairs  upon  their  scaffolds,  very 
near  one  another,  did  battle  with  arms  and  lungs,  in 
jealous  competition,  each  one  playing  in  his  own  key,  and 
according  to  his  own  price,  without  any  concern  for  the 
horrible  discordance  produced  by  this  assemblage  of  ob- 
streperous instruments,  each  straining  to  be  the  one  to 
overpower  his  neighbors  in  tune  and  measure.  Amidst 
this  musical  chaos,  each  set  of  dancers  remained  inflexibly 
at  its  post,  never  confounding  the  music  for  which  it  had 
paid  with  that  shrieking  two  steps  off,  and  never  striking 
the  foot  to  a  false  measure  ;  a  wonderful  training  of  ear 
and  habit.  The  arbors  resounded  with  no  less  heteroge- 
neous noises,  some  singing  at  the  top  of  their  voices, 
some  earnestly  talking  over  their  affairs  —  these  drinking 
friendship,  and  those  threatening  to  fling  their  cups  at 
each  other's  heads,  the  whole  enhanced  by  two  indigenous 
policemen,  passing  with  a  fatherly  air  through  the  midst 
of  the  tumult,  and  sufficing,  by  their  pressure,  to  restrain 
a  population  so  peaceable  as  rarely  to  go  from  words  to 
blows. 

The  close  circle  formed  around  the  first  bourrees  be- 
came yet  more  dense  when  the  lovely  Rose  opened  the 
dance  with  the  tall  miller.  They  were  the  handsomest 
couple  of  the  fete,  and  their  firm,  light  steps  electrified 
all  the  others.  The  dame  of  the  mill  could  not  help  re- 
marking this  to  Mother  Bricolin,  and  she  even  added 
that  it  was  a  pity  that  two  such  good  and  handsome 
young  people  were  not  intended  for  one  another. 

"  As  for  me,"  unhesitatingly  replied  the  old  grand- 
mother, "  I  would  make  neither  one  nor  two  of  it,  if  I 
were  mistress,  for  I  am  sure  that  thy  boy  would  make  my 
granddaughter  happier  than  she  will  ever  be  with  another. 
I  know  very  well  that  Grand-Louis  loves  her  ;  that  may 
easily  be  seen,  though  he  has  the  sense  not  to  speak  of  it. 
But  what  wilt  thou  have,  my  poor  Marie  ?  Our  people 
think  of  nothing  but  money.  I  was  foolish  enough  to 
yield  all  my  property  to  my  son,  and  since  that,  they  do 
not  listen  to  me  any  more  than  if  I  were  dead.  If  I  had 
done  differently,  I  could  now  dower  Rose  and  marry  her 


■I 


THE  MILLER    OF  ANGIBAULT.  2^1 


as  I  pleased.     But  I  have  nothing  left  but  feelings,  and 
that  kind  of  coin  has  no  great  currency  in  our  house." 

Notwithstanding  all  Rose's  address  in  passing  from  one 
group  to  another  to  avoid  her  mother,  and  always  find 
herself  either  beside  or  opposite  to  her  friend,  Mme.  Bric- 
olin  and  her  party  succeeded  in  joining  her,  and  establish- 
ing themselves  around  her.  Her  cousins  made  her  dance 
till  she  was  tired,  and  Grand-Louis  prudently  withdrew, 
feeling  that  at  tlie  least  quarrel  he  should  be  excited  be- 
yond reason.  They  had  tried  to  arouse  him  by  saucy 
jests  ;  but  the  clear,  bold  glance  of  his  large  blue  eyes, 
his  disdainful  composure,  and  great  stature,  easily  re- 
strained the  bravery  of  the  Bricolins.  When  he  was 
gone,  they  took  their  fill  of  abuse,  and  Rose  was  amazed 
to  hear  her  sisters,  her  sisters-in-law,  and  her  numerous 
cousins  assert  that  this  tall  fellow  looked  like  a  fool,  that 
he  danced  absurdly,  that  he  appeared  puffed  up  with  pre-' 
tension,  and  that  none  of  them  would  dance  with  him/o/ 
the  world.  Rose  had  self-love.  This  defect  in  her  had 
been  too  assiduously  cultivated  not  to  conquer  her  some- 
times. Everything  had  been  done  to  corrupt  and  repress 
her  good,  frank  nature  ;  and  if  there  had  not  been  entire 
success,  it  was  because  there  are  incorruptible  souls  on 
which  the  spirit  of  evil  has  little  hold.  Nevertheless,  she 
was  pained  at  hearing  her  lover  so  obstinately  and  bitterly 
defamed.  It  vexed  her  ;  she  dared  not  promise  herself  to 
dance  with  him  again,  and  declaring  that  she  had  a  head- 
ache, she  returned  to  the  farm,  after  vainly  looking  for 
Marcelle,  whose  influence  would,  she  felt,  have  restored 
her  courage  and  calmness. 


232 


THE   MILLER    OF  ANGIBAULT, 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 

THE    CABIN. 

ATARCELLE  had  been  waiting  for  the  miller  at  the 
-'■'-*•  foot  of  the  terrace,  as  he  had  expressly  advised  her. 
At  the  end  of  two  hours,  she  saw  him  enter  a  closely 
shaded  enclosure,  and  make  a  sign  to  her  to  follow  him. 
After  crossing  one  of  the  little  peasant  gardens,  so  ill 
kept,  and  consequently  so  pretty,  green,  and  tufted,  she 
entered,  by  slipping  under  the  hedge,  the  court  of  one  of 
the  poorest  cabins  in  the  Black  Valley.  This  court  was 
twenty  feet  by  six,  shut  in  on  one  side  by  the  low  house, 
on  the  other  by  the  garden,  and  at  each  end  by  straw- 
covered  sheds,  which  served  to  shelter  a  few  hens,  two 
sheep,  and  a  goat,  which  comprise  all  the  wealth  of  the 
rustic  day-laborer,  the  man  who  earns  his  bread  from  day 
to  day,  and  owns  nothing,  not  even  the  wretched  house 
that  he  inhabits,  and  the  narrow  enclosure  that  he  tills. 
The  interior  of  the  house  was  as  miserable  as  the  en- 
trance, and  Marcelle  was  touched  at  seeing  by  what  ex- 
treme neatness  womanly  courage  held  the  ground  against 
the  horrors  of  destitution.  There  was  not  a  speck  of  dust 
on  the  uneven  and  stony  soil  which  formed  the  floor  ;  the 
two  or  three  poor  pieces  of  furniture  were  bright  and  shin- 
ing, as  if  just  varnished,  and  the  few  articles  of  earthen- 
ware, set  up  on  boards  against  the  wall,  were  carefully 
v/ashed  and  arranged.  With  most  of  the  peasants  of  the 
Black  Valley,  real  and  serious  want  is  wisely  and  nobly 
concealed  under  these  conscientious  habits  of  order  and 
neatness.  Their  rustic  poverty  is  touching  and  pathetic. 
One  would  willingly  live  with  these  people.  They  in- 
spire no  disgust,  but  interest,  and  a  sort  of  respect.     How 


THE  MILLER   OF  AN  GIB AULT.  333 

little  of  the  superfluity  of  the  rich  would  be  needed  to 
extract  from  their  lives  all  the  bitterness  hidden  beneath 
tliis  appearance  of  poetic  calm  ! 

This  reflection  struck  Marcelle  to  the  heart  when  Pau- 
line came  to  meet  her,  with  one  child  in  her  arms  and 
three  more  clinging  to  her  apron,  all  fresh  and  clean,  in 
their  Sunday  clothes.  Pauline  was  still  young  and  hand- 
some, although  faded  by  the  fatigues  of  maternity  and 
abstinence  from  things  most  necessary  to  life.  No  wine, 
no  meat,  nor  even  vegetables,  for  a  laboring  and  nursing 
woman  !  Nevertheless,  the  children  could  have  spared 
health  to  Marcelle's,  and  a  smile  of  kindness  and  confi- 
dence was  upon  the  pale,  thin  lips  of  the  mother. 

"  Come  in  and  take  a  seat,  madam,"  said  she,  offering 
a  straw  chair  covered  with  a  coarse  but  clean  napkin  of 
tow-cloth.  "  The  gentleman  whom  you  expect  has  been 
here  already,  and  not  finding  you,  has  gone  to  take  a 
turn  in  the  assembly,  but  he  will  be  back  directly.  If  I 
could  offer  you  something  meanwhile  !  Here  are  some 
freshly-gathered  plums  and  some  nuts.  Come,  Grand- 
Louis,  do  thou  take  some  fruit  from  my  garden  too.  I 
wish  I  could  offer  thee  a  glass  of  wine  !  but  we  make 
none,  thou  knowest ;  and  if  it  were  not  for  thee,  we 
should  not  always  have  bread." 

"You  are  very  poor?"  said  Marcelle,  slipping  a  piece 
of  gold  into  the  pocket  of  the  little  girl,  who  was  touch- 
ing, with  astonishment,  her  black  silk  dress  ;  "  and  Grand- 
Louis,  who  is  not  very  rich  himself,  helps  you?" 

"He?"  answered  Pauline;  "he  is  the  best-hearted 
man  that  the  good  God  has  made !  Without  him  we. 
should  have  died  of  cold  and  hunger  these  three  win- 
ters past ;  but  he  gives  us  grain  and  wood ;  he  lends  us 
his  horses  to  go  on  pilgrimage  when  any  of  us  are  sick ; 
he  —  " 

"  There  is  quite  enough  to  make  me  out  a  saint,  Paul- 
ine," said  the  miller,  interrupting  her.  "  Truly,  it  is  a 
great  thing  in  me  not  to  have  deserted  a  good  workman 
like  thy  husband  !  " 

"  A  good  workman  !  "  said  Pauline,  shaking  her  head. 


234 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 


*'  Poor  dear  man  !  M.  Bricolin  tells  everybody  that  he 
is  lazy,  because  he  is  not  strong." 

*'  But  he  does  what  he  can.  Now  I  like  good  will  in 
people,  so  I  always  employ  him." 

"  That  is  what  makes  M.  Bricolin  say  that  thou  wilt 
never  be  rich,  and  showest  poor  judgment  in  employing 
sickly  people." 

"  Well,  and  if  nobody  employs  them,  must  they  then 
die  of  hunger?     Fine  reasoning  !  " 

"  But,  you  know,"  said  Marcelle,  sadly,  "  the  moral 
that  M.  Bricolin  draws  from  it  —  the  worse  for  them  !  " 

"  Mile.  Rose  is  very  good,"  resumed  Pauline.  "  She 
would  help  the  unfortunate,  if  she  could.  But  the  poor 
young  lady  can  do  nothing  but  secretly  bring  a  piece  of 
white  bread  to  make  broth  for  my  little  one.  And  that 
is  against  my  will,  for  if  her  mother  saw  her !  oh !  the 
rude  woman  !  But  so  goes  the  world.  There  are  both 
bad  and  good  people.  Ah !  there  comes  M.  Tailland. 
You  will  not  wait  long." 

"  Pauline,  thou  knowest  what  I  said  to  thee,"  said  the 
miller,  putting  his  finger  on  his  lips. 

*'0h!"  answered  she,  "I  would  sooner  cut  out  my 
tongue  than  say  a  word." 

"Because,  thou  seest  —  " 

"Thou  needst  not  explain  the  why  and  how,  Grand- 
Louis  ;  it  is  enough  that  thou  bidst  me  be  silent.  Come, 
children  !  "  said  she  to  her  three  young  ones  who  were 
playing  by  the  door  ;  "let  us  go  see  the  assembly  a  little." 

"The  lady  has  put  a  gold  piece  in  thy  little  girl's 
pocket,"  whispered  Grand-Louis  to  her.  "  It  was  not  to 
purchase  thy  discretion,  she  well  knows  that  thou  dost  not 
sell  it ;  but  it  was  because  she  saw  thy  need.  Put  it  up, 
the  child  would  lose  it,  aud  do  not  thank  her ;  the  lady 
does  not  like  compliments,  since  she  gave  thee  this  charity 
in  secret." 

M.  Tailland  was  an  honest  man,  very  active  for  a  Ber- 
fichon,  capable  enough  in  business,  only  rather  too  fond 
of  his  ease.  He  loved  good  easy-chairs,  nice  little  colla- 
tions, long  repasts,  very  hot  coffee,  and  smooth  roads  for 
his  cabriolet.     He  found  none  of  these  at   the  fete  of 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT.  235 

Blanchemont.  Meanwhile,  though  swearing  a  little 
against  country  amusements,  he  willingly  stayed  all  day 
to  be  of  service  to  some,  and  to  transact  business  with 
others.  In  fifteen  minutes'  conversation  he  demonstrated 
to  Marcelle  the  possibility,  and  even  the  probability,  of 
selling  her  estate  at  a  high  price.  But  as  to  selling 
quickly,  and  receiving  ready  money,  he  was  not  of  the 
miller's  opinion.  "  Nothing  is  done  quickly  with  us,"  he 
said.  "  Still  it  would  be  madness  not  to  try  to  rise  fifty 
thousand  francs  upon  Bricolin's  offer.  I  will  make  every 
effort.  If  I  do  not  succeed  in  a  month,  I  may  counsel 
you,  in  your  peculiar  situation,  to  yield.  But  it  is  an 
hundred  to  one  that  before  then,  Bricolin,  who  has  set 
his  heart  on  being  lord  of  Blanchemont,  will  compromise 
with  you,  if  you  can  feign  the  rough  but  necessary  qual- 
ity of  great  sharpness,  with  which  I  plainly  see,  madam, 
you  are  not  too  well  provided.  Now,  sign  this  power  of 
attorney  I  have  brought  you,  and  1  am  off",  for  I  do  not 
wish  to  seem  as  if  I  were  interfering  in  an  underhand 
way  with  my  legal  brother  Varin,  whom  your  tenant 
would  have  had  you  choose." 

Grand-Louis  accompanied  the  notary  to  the  entrance, 
and  they  disappeared  in  diii'erent  directions.  It  had  been 
agreed  that  Marcelle  should  leave  last  and  alone,  after 
waiting  a  few  minutes  with  the  doors  closed,  so  that  if 
any  inquisitive  person  observed  their  movements,  the 
house  might  be  thought  deserted. 

The  door  of  the  cabin  was  divided  transversely  into 
two  parts,  the  upper  of  which  served  as  a  window  for 
the  entrance  of  light  and  air.  Glazed  windows  separate 
from  the  door,  were  unknown  in  the  older  buildings  of 
our  peasants.  Pauline's  was  built  fifty  years  since,  for 
people  who  w^ere  well  off";  while  now,  the  poorest,  if  they 
live  in  a  new  house,  have  sash  windows,  and  locks  on 
their  doors.  Both  parts  of  Pauline's  door  were  fastened 
inside  and  out  by  means  of  a  wooden  peg,  fitting  into  a 
hole  in  the  wall. 

When  Marcelle  was  thus  shut  up,  she  found  herself  in 
perfect  darkness,  and  asked  herself  what  could  be  the  in- 
tellectual life  of  people  who,  too  poor  to  have  candles, 


236  THE  MILLER    OF  ANGIBAULT. 

were  compelled  to  go  to  bed  at  nightfall,  and  in  winter 
to  remain  in  darkness  during  the  day  to  keep  themselves 
from  the  cold.  "  I  said  and  believed  that  I  was  ruined,'* 
thought  she,  "  because  I  was  obliged  to  leave  my  gilded 
and  silken  rooms ;  but  how  many  steps  are  there  yet 
upon  the  ladder  of  social  existence  before  coming  to  such 
poverty-stricken  life  as  this,  which  scarcely  differs  from 
that  of  the  animals  !  No  choice  between  enduring  at  all 
hours  the  intemperance  of  the  seasons,  and  burying  them- 
selves in  the  void  nothingness  of  idleness,  like  the  sheep 
in  their  fold !  How  can  this  wretched  family  occupy 
themselves  in  the  long  winter  evenings?  In  talking? 
And  of  what  but  their  misery  can  they  talk  ?  Ah ! 
Lemor  is  right,  I  am  still  too  rich  to  dare  to  say  before 
God  that  I  have  nothing  with  which  to  reproach  myself." 

Meanwhile,  her  eyes  became  accustomed  to  the  obscu- 
rity. Through  the  ill-jointed  door  came  a  vague  glim- 
mer, which  grew  brighter  every  instant.  Suddenly, 
Marcelle  started  on  perceiving  that  she  was  not  alone  in 
the  cabin,  but  her  next  emotion  was  not  fear  —  Lcmor 
was  beside  her.  He  had  hidden,  unknown  to  every  one, 
behind  the  serge  curtains  of  the  hearse-shaped  bed.  He 
had  gathered  courage  to  seek  an  interview  with  Marcelle, 
telling  himself  that  it  was  the  last,  and  that  he  must  go 
afterwards. 

"  Since  you  are  here,"  said  she,  dissembling,  with  ten- 
der coquetry,  the  joy  and  emotion  of  her  surprise,  "  I 
will  tell  you  of  what  I  was  thinking.  If  we  were  re- 
duced to  living  in  this  cabin,  would  your  love  bear  up 
against  the  troubles  of  the  day  and  the  inaction  of  the 
evening?  Could  you  live  deprived  of  books,  or  unable 
to  make  use  of  them  for  want  of  a  drop  of  oil  in  the 
lamp,  and  of  time  in  the  hours  of  manual  labor  ?  After 
years  of  every  sort  of  trial  and  privation,  should  yoii 
think  this  dwelling  picturesque  in  its  dilapidation,  and 
the  life  of  the  poor  poetic  in  its  simplicity  ?  " 

"  I  had  precisely  the  same  thoughts,  Marcelle,  and 
thought  of  asking  you  the  same  thing.  Would  you  love 
me  if  I  had  drawn  you  into  such  poverty  by  my  Utopian 
dreams?  " 


THE   MILLER    OF  ANGIBAULT. 


^Zl 


"  It  seems  to  me  that  I  should,  Lemor." 

"And  why  do  you  doubt  me?  Ah  !  you  are  not  sin- 
cere in  your  reply  !  " 

"I  am  not  sincere?"  said  Marcelle,  putting  both  her 
hands  within  those  of  Lemor.  "  My  friend,  I  desire  to 
be  worthy  of  you,  and  this  is  why  I  restrain  in  myself 
the  romantic  extravagance  which  might  lead  even  a 
woman  of  the  world  to  affirm  and  promise  everything, 
without  holding  to  anything,  and  saying  to  herself  the 
next  day,  '  That  was  a  pretty  romance  of  mine  yester- 
day ! '  For  myself,  not  a  day  passes  that  I  do  not  strictly 
question  my  conscience,  and  I  believe  that  I  am  sincere 
in  answering  you  that  I  cannot  imagine  the  situation, 
were  it  amid  the  horrors  of  a  dungeon,  where  affliction 
could  make  me  cease  to  love  you  ! " 

"  O  Marcelle  !  dear  and  noble  Marcelle  !  But  why, 
then,  did  you  doubt  me  ?  " 

"  Because  a  man's  mind  is  different  from  ours.  It  is 
accustomed  to  other  aliment  than  tenderness  and  solitude. 
A  man  must  have  activity,  labor,  and  the  hope  of  being 
useful,  not  only  to  his  family,  but  to  humanity." 

"•  Is  it  not  also  a  duty  freely  to  cast  one's  self  into  this 
impotence  of  poverty?" 

"Are  there,  then,  contradictory  duties  in  our  times  .-* 
For  power  of  mind  is  acquired  only  by  the  help  of  instruc- 
tion, and  instruction  is  obtained  only  through  the  power 
of  money,  and  yet  all  that  is  so  enjoyed,  acquired,  or 
possessed,  is  to  the  detriment  of  him  who  can  neither 
acquire  nor  possess  celestial  or  material  wealth." 

"You  attack  me  with  my  own  weapons,  Marcelle. 
Alas  !  how  shall  I  answer  you,  unless  by  saying  that  we 
do  indeed  live  in  an  age  of  enormous  and  inevitable  in- 
consequence, where  kind  hearts  desire  the  right,  and  are 
forced  to  accept  the  wrong  ?  Reasons  are  not  wanting  to 
prove,  as  all  the  happy  do,  that  it  is  a  duty  to  guard, 
instruct,  and  idealize  one's  own  existence,  so  as  to  render 
one's  self  an  active  and  powerful  instrument  in  the  service 
of  mankind,  and  that  to  sacrifice,  humble,  and  annihilate 
one's  self  like  the  early  Christians  of  the  wilderness,  is 
to  neutralize  a  power,  to  quench  a  light  that  God   has 


238  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 

sent  to  men  to  teach  and  save  them.  But  how  arrofyant 
is  this  reasoning,  ahhough,  from  the  lips  of  certain  en- 
lightened and  sincere  men,  itapgears  just !  It  is  the  rea- 
soning of  the  aristocracy.  fLetus  preserve  our  riches  to 
give  in  alms,  say  also  the  devotees  of  your  caste.  It  is 
we,  say  the  princes  of  the  Church,  whom  God  has  ap- 
pointed to  enlighten  men.  It  is  we,  cry  the  democratic 
bourgeois,  and  we  alone,  who  should  instruct  the  people 
in  liberty.  Yet  what  alms,  what  education,  and  what 
liberty  have  these,  from  their  strength,  given  to  the 
wretched !  No !  private  charity  has  no  power,  the 
Church  no  will,  modern  liberalism  no  wisdom.  I  feel  ray 
spirit  faint,  and  my  heart  sink  in  my  bosom,  when  I  think 
of  the  issue  of  the  labyrinth  in  which  we  are  involved  ; 
we  who  seek  for  truth,  and  find  falsehood  and  threats  in 
the  response  of  society^  Marcelle,  Marcelle,  let  us  love 
one  another,  that  the  spirit  of  God  abandon  us  not ! " 

"  Let  us  love  I "  cried  Marcelle,  throwing  herself  into 
her  lover's  arms,  "  and  do  not  leave  me,  do  not  abandon 
me  to  my  ignorance,  Lemor,  for  thou  hast  lifted  me  from 
the  narrow  Catholic  horizon  where  I  tranquilly  sought 
my  salvation,  placing  my  confessor's  decision  above  that 
of  Christ,  and  consoling  myself  for  the  impossibility  of 
being  a  true  Christian  woman  on  this  earth,  by  the  say- 
ing of  a  priest —  There,  are  arrangements  with  heaven! 
Thou  hast  shown  me  a  vaster  sphere,  and  now  I  should 
not  have  an  instant  of  repose  if  thou  wert  to  desert  me 
in  this  pale  twilight  dawn  of  truth." 

"  But  I  know  nothing  myself,"  answered  Lemor,  sor- 
rowfully. '"  I  am  the  offspring  of  the  age.  I  do  not 
possess  the  science  of  the  future.  I  can  only  understand 
and  comment  upon  the  past.  Floods  of  light  passed 
before  me,  and  like  all  the  young  and  pure  of  the  time, 
I  rushed  toward  the  the  broad  beams  which  revealed  to 
us  error,  without  giving  us  truth.  I  hate  the  wrong,  I 
know  not  the  right.  I  suffer,  oli !  I  suffer,  Marcelle,  and 
find  only  in  thee  the  beautiful  ideal  which  I  would  fain 
see  rule  the  earth.  Oh  !  I  love  thee  with  all  the  love  which 
men  repulse  from  their  midst,  with  all  the  devotion  which 
society  paralyzes  and  refuses  to  enlighten,  with  all  the 


THE  MILLER    OF  ANGIBAULT. 


239 


fenderness  which  I  cannot  communicate  to  others,  with 
all  the  charity  given  me  by  God  for  thee  and  for  them, 
but  which  thou  alone  understandest  and  feelest  like  my- 
self, when  all  others  are  insensible  or  disdainful.  Let  us 
love,  then,  without  corrupting  ourselves  by  mingling  with 
those  who  triumph,  and  without  degrading  ourselves  with 
those  who  submit.  Let  us  love  as  two  wanderers  cross- 
ing the  seas  to  conquer  a  new  world,  but  knowing  not 
whether  they  shall  ever  reach  it.  Let  us  love,  not  to  be 
happy  in  a  twofold  selfishness^  as  love  is  called,  but  to 
suffer  together,  to  pray  together,  together  to  seek  what 
Ave  two,  poor  birds  lost  in  the  storm,  may  do,  day  by  day, 
to  remove  the  plague  which  scatters  our  race,  and  to 
gather  under  our  wings  some  fugitives  crushed  like  our- 
selves beneath  terror  and  sadness  !  " 

Lemor  wept  like  a  child  as  he  pressed  Marcelle  to  his 
heart.  Marcelle,  carried  away  by  burning  sympathy  and 
enthusiastic  respect,  knelt  before  him  as  a  daughter  be- 
fore her  father,  saying : 

"  Save  me,  let  me  not  perish !  Thou  wert  here  just 
now,  thou  heardst  me  consult  a  man  of  money  upon  af- 
fairs of  money.  I  have  been  persuaded  to  struggle 
against  poverty  to  save  my  son  from  ignorance  and  moral 
feebleness  ;  if  thou  condemnest  me,  if  thou  provest  to 
me  that  my  sou  will  be  better  and  greater  through  pov- 
erty, I  shall  perhaps  have  the  prodigious  courage  to  let 
his  body  suffer  to  fortify  his  soul !  " 

"  O,  Marcelle ! "  said  Lemor,  obliging  her  to  reseat 
herself,  and  kneeling  in  his  turn  before  her,  "  thou  hast  the 
strength  and  the  resolution  of  the  greatest  saints  and 
proudest  martyrs  of  the  past.  But  where  are  the  bap- 
tismal waters,  to  which  we  may  bear  thy  child?  the 
church  of  the  poor  is  not  yet  builded  ;  they  live  dispersed, 
following  various  inspirations  in  the  absence  of  all  doc- 
trine ;  some  resigned  through  habit,  some  idolatrous 
through  stupidity,  here  ferocious  through  vengeance, 
there  still  degraded  by  every  abandoned  and  brutish  vice. 
We  cannot  ask  the  first  passing  beggar  to  lay  his  hands 
on  thy  son  and  bless  him.  The  beggar  has  suffered  too 
much  to  be  loving,  and  is,  perhaps,  a  robber !     Let  us 


240  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 

shelter  thy  boy  from  evil  as  far  as  possible,  let  us  teach 
him  the  love  of  rij^ht  and  the  need  of  insight.  This 
generation  may  acquire  that  insight,  and  some  day,  per- 
haps, instruct  us  in  it.  Keep  thy  wealth  ;  how  should  I 
reproach  thee  with  it,  when  I  see  that  thy  heart  is  en- 
tirely indifferent  to  it,  and  that  thou  regardest  it  but  as  a 
trust  to  be  accounted  for  to  heaven?  Keep  the  little  gold 
which  remains  to  thee.  As  the  good  miller  said  the  other 
day,  it  is  purified  in  some  hands,  as  it  is  soiled  and  cor- 
rupted in  others.  Let  us  love,  let  us  love  !  and  trust 
that  God  will  enlighten  us  in  His  own  time.  And  now, 
farewell,  Marcelle  !  I  see  that  thou  desirest  this  effort  of 
courage  from  me.  I  will  make  it.  To-morrow  I  will 
leave  this  sweet  and  lovely  valley  where,  notwithstanding 
everything,  I  have  lived  two  such  happy  days  !  In  a 
year  I  will  return  ;  whether  thou  art  in  a  palace  or  a  hut, 
I  see  that  I  must  bow  at  thy  door,  and  there  hang  up  for- 
ever my  pilgrim's  staff." 

Lemor  departed,  and,  after  a  few  moments,  Marcelle 
quitted  the  cabin  in  her  turn.  But,  careful  as  she  was 
to  conceal  her  retreat,  she  met  face  to  face  at  the  edge 
of  the  enclosure,  an  ill-looking  boy,  who,  crouched  behind 
the  hedge,  seemed  awaiting  her  passage.  He  stared 
boldly  at  her,  and  then,  as  if  delighted  at  having  sur- 
prised and  recognized  her,  ran  off  in  the  direction  of  a 
mUl  on  the  Vauvre  at  the  other  side  of  the  way.  Mar- 
celle did  not  think  his  ugly  face  quite  unknown  to  her, 
and  remembered,  after  some  effort,  that  it  was  that  of 
the  patachon  who  had  lately  led  her  astray  in  the  Black 
Valley,  and  deserted  her  in  a  swamp.  His  red  head 
and  ill-omened  green  eye  gave  her  some  uneasiness,  al- 
though she  could  not  imagine  what  interest  this  lad  could 
take  in  watching  her  proceedings. 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT.  24.I 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 

THE    FETE. 

'T^HE  miller  had  returned  to  the  dance,  hoping  to  find 
•^  Rose  free  from  what  he  disdainfully  called  her  raft 
of  cousins.  But  Rose  was  in  a  pet  with  her  kinsfolk, 
with  the  dance,  and  somewhat  with  herself.  She  was 
remorseful  for  not  feeling  the  courage  to  defy  the  taunts 
of  her  family. 

Her  father  had  taken  her  aside  that  morning. 

"Rose,"  said  he,  "thy  mother  has  forbidden  thee  to 
dance  with  Grand-Louis  of  Angibault ;  now  I  forbid  thee 
to  affront  him  so.  He  is  a  respectable  man,  incapable 
of  compromising  thee  ;  and  besides,  who  could  think  of 
coupling  your  names  together?  It  would  be  too  unsuit- 
able ;  and,  in  these  days^  it  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  a 
peasant  could  think  of  a  girl  of  thy  rank.  So  dance 
with  him :  we  should  not  humiliate  our  inferiors  ;  some 
day  or  other  one  is  sure  to  have  need  of  them,  and  they 
should  be  attached  when  it  costs  nothing." 

"  But  if  mamma  scold  me?"  said  Rose,  at  once  happy 
in  this  permission,  and  hurt  by  the  motive  which  dic- 
tated it. 

"  Thy  mother  will  not  say  anything.  I  have  been  lec- 
turing her,"  replied  M.  Bricolin.  And,  in  fact,  Mme. 
Bricolin  did  not  say  anything.  She  dared  not  disobey 
her  lord  and  master,  who  connived  at  her  hardness 
towards  others,  on  the  single  condition  that  she  should  be 
pliant  to  him.  But  as  he  had  not  thought  proper  to  initi- 
ate her  into  his  views,  and  she  was  ignorant  of  the  impor- 
tance which  he  attached  to  preserving  the  miller's  alliance 
in  the  diplomatic  affair  of  acquiring  the  manor  of  Blanche- 
mont,  she  had  contrived  to  elude  his  commands,  and  her 
16 


242 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 


ironical   condescension  was    more  vexatious    to   Grand- 
Loiiis  tlian  open  war. 

Annoyed  at  not  seeing  Rose,  and  depending  upon  the 
protection  of  her  father,  whom  he  had  seen  return  to  the 
iarm,  Grand-Louis  went  there,  seeking  some  pretext  to 
talk  with  her,  and  discover  the  object  of  her  thoughts. 
But  he  was  much  surprised  to  find  in  the  court  M.  Brie- 
olin  in  deep  conference  with  the  miller  of  Blanchemont, 
whose  mill  was  situated  at  the  foot  of  the  terrace,  just 
opposite  Pauline's  house.  Now,  a  few  days  before,  M. 
Bricolin  had  irrevocably  quarrelled  with  this  miller,  who 
had  for  some  time  had  his  custom,  and  had,  according 
to  him,  abominably  reduced  his  measure  of  grain. 
Whether  innocent  or  guilty,  the  said  miller  greatly  re- 
gretted the  loss  of  the  custom  of  the  farm,  and  swore  ha- 
tred and  revenge  upon  Grand-Louis.  He  waited  only  for 
an  occasion  to  injure  him,  aud  one  had  just  presented  it- 
self. The  proprietor  of  his  mill  was  the  very  M.  Rave- 
lard  to  whom  the  Miller  of  Augibault  had  sold  Marcelle's 
carriage.  Proud  and  pleased  to  try  his  new  acquisition, 
and  to  display  it  to  his  retainers,  M.  Ravelard  deter'- 
mined  to  inspect  his  property  at  Blanchemont ;  but  having 
no  servant  who  knew  how  to  drive  two-in-hand,  he  en- 
gaged the  talents  of  the  red-headed  patachon,  who  was  a 
hack-driver  by  trade,  and  boasted  a  perfect  acquaintance 
with  the  roads  of  the  Black  Valley.  M.  Ravelard  had 
arrived,  not  without  trouble,  but  at  least  without  acci- 
dent, on  the  morning  of  the  fete.  Pie  sent  his  horses  to 
his  mill,  but  did  not  have  his  carriage  put  up,  that  every- 
body might  observe  it,  and  know  to  whom  it  belonged. 

The  sight  of  this  fine  carriage  was  already  very  dis- 
agreeable to  M.  Bricolin,  who  detested  M.  Ravelard,  his 
rival  in  the  territorial  wealth  of  the  district.  He  went  down 
to  the  road  by  the  Vauvre  to  examine  and  criticise  it. 
Granchon,  the  miller,  Grand-Louis's  rival,  entered  into 
conversation  with  him  without  seeming  to  remember  their 
quarrel,  and  did  not  fail  to  worry  and  taunt  him  with  hints 
that  his  master  was  better  able  than  he  to  set  up  his  car- 
riage. Thereupon  M.  Bricolin  began  to  abuse  the  carriage, 
to  say  that  it  was  an  old  prefect's  coach  made  over,  a  crazy 


THE  MILLER    OF  ANGIBAULT. 


243 


wa<^on  of  a  thing,  and  might  not,  perhaps,  leave  the  Black 
Valley  in  as  spruce  condition  as  it  had  entered  it.  Gran- 
chon  defended  his  landlord's  discernment  and  the  quality 
of  his  purchase,  and  finally  said  that  it  had  been  Mme. 
de  Blanchemont's,  and  that  Grand-Louis  had  been  the 
agent  in  the  sale.  M.  Bricolin,  surprised  and  scanda- 
lized, listened  to  the  details  of  the  affair,  and  learned  that 
the  Miller  of  Angibault  had  decided  M.  Ravelard  to  se- 
cure this  luxury,  by  telling  him  that  it  would  enrage  M. 
Bricolin.  The  fact  was  unhappily  too  true.  M.  Rav- 
elard had  talked  with  the  patachon  all  the  way  in  coming. 
The  latter,  skilled  in  eliciting  a  good  gratuity  for  himself, 
and  seeing  the  bourgeois  intoxicated  with  pride  in  his  new 
vehicle,  had  spoken  to  him  of  nothing  else.  Nothing 
could  be  handsomer,  lighter,  more  pleasant  to  drive,  than 
this  carriage.  It  must  have  cost  at  least  four  thousand 
francs,  and  was  worth  twice  as  much  in  the  country.  M. 
Ravelard,  delicately  flattered  by  this  artless  admiration, 
had  confided  all  the  circumstances  of  the  bargain  to  his 
driver,  and  he  had  gossiped  about  them  with  Granchon 
the  miller,  while  breakfasting  at  the  mill  of  Blanche- 
mont.  Perceiving  the  hatred  and  envy  felt  there  towards 
Grand-Louis,  he  set  things  in  their  worst  light,  as  much 
for  the  pleasure  of  prating  and  being  listened  to  as  on 
account  of  his  irritation  against  Grand-Louis  for  his  un- 
merciful raillery  the  day  of  his  adventure  in  the  marsh. 

A  few  moments  after  M.  Bricolin  liad  left  Granchon 
with  a  bent  brow  and  haughty  air,  this  same  Granchon 
saw  Grand-Louis  and  Marcelle  enter  Pauline's  cabin.  He 
was  struck  by  this  seemingly  mysterious  rendezvous,  and 
racked  his  brain  to  find  therein  a  new  occasion  of  injury 
to  his  enemy.  He  placed  the  patachon  in  ambush,  and 
after  an  hour  he  learned  that  Grand-Louis,  an  unknown, 
who  seemed  to  be  a  new  mill-boy  engaged  in  his  service, 
the  young  lady  of  Blanchemont,  and  M.  Tailland,  the 
notary,  had  been  shut  up  in  deep  conference  at  Pauline's  ; 
that  each  had  left  separately,  and  taking  useless  precau- 
tions against  observation  ;  finally,  that  some  conspiracy 
was  hatching  there,  some  money  affair,  doubtless,  since 
the  notary  was  concerned  in  it.     Granchon  was  not  un- 


244  ^^^  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 

aware  that  this  honest  notary  was  a  bugbear  and  terror 
to  Bricolin.  Half  guessing  the  truth,  he  hastened  oblig- 
ingly to  inform  Bricolin  of  all  these  details,  and  to  com- 
plimeut  him  upon  the  manner  in  which  his  favorite,  the 
Miller  of  Angibault,  served  his  interests.  This  was  the 
narration  which  Grand-Louis  interrupted  on  entering  the 
court  of  the  farm. 

Under  any  other  circumstances  our  honest  miller  would 
have  gone  right  up  to  his  accuser,  and  forced  him  to  an 
explanation.  But  seeing  Bricolin  abruptly  turn  his  back 
upon  him,  and  Granchon  slyly  watch  him  with  a  taunting 
look,  he  uneasily  wondered  what  serious  business  could 
have  brought  together  two  men,  who,  the  evening  before, 
ne  se  seraient  pas  donne  un  coup  de  bonnet  derriere  Veg- 
Use,  that  is  to  say,  would  not  have  bowed  had  they  met 
face  to  face  in  the  narrowest  street  in  the  town.  Grand- 
Louis  did  not  know  the  subject  of  their  conversation,  nor 
even  whether  he  were  the  object  of  this  alfccted  aside ; 
but  his  conscience  pricked  him.  He  had  tried  to  outwit 
M.  Bricolin.  Instead  of  scornfully  repulsing  him  when 
he  had  offered  him  money  to  serve  his  interest  to  the  in- 
jury of  Marcelle's,  he  had  pretended  to  bargain  with 
him  for  one  or  two  bourrecs  with  Rose  ;  he  had  given  him 
hope,  and  to  avenge  himself  for  his  insulting  offers,  he 
had  deceived  him. 

"  I  deserve  no  better,"  thought  he,  "  than  to  have  my 
fine  mine  countermined.  This  is  what  comes  of  tricking  ! 
My  mother  always  told  me  it  was  a  country  custom  which 
would  bring  bad  luck,  and  I  have  not  had  sense  enough 
to  keep  from  it.  If  I  had  shown  myself  an  honest  man, 
as  I  am  at  heart,  to  this  cursed  farmer,  he  would  have 
hated,  but  respected,  and  perhaps  feared,  me,  more  than 
he  will  now,  if  he  discover  that  I  have  used  cunning 
words  with  him.  Grand-Louis,  my  friend,  thou  hast 
been  a  fool !  All  bad  actions  are  stupid  —  mayst  thou 
not  drink  thine  !  " 

Tormented,  intimidated,  and  displeased  with  himself, 
he  went  to  the  terrace  to  join  his  mother,  and  propose  to 
take  her  back  to  Angibault.  Vespers  were  over,  and  she 
had  already  gone  with  some  neighbors,  leaving  word  with 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT.  245 

Jean  for  his  master  to  amuse  himself  awhile  longer,  but 
not  stay  too  late. 

Grand-Louis  could  not  avail  himself  of  this  permis- 
sion. A  prey  to  a  thousand  anxieties,  he  wandered  about 
till  sunset  without  any  enjoyment,  waiting  till  Rose  should 
reappear,  or  till  her  father  should  come  to  inform  him  of 
his  intentions. 

The  chief  amusement  of  the  villagers  on  a  fete  day  is 
towards  night.  The  gendarmes,  tired  of  doing  nothing, 
begin  to  mount  their  horses ;  the  people  from  the  town 
and  suburbs  climb  into  their  various  vehicles  and  depart, 
to  avoid  passing  the  bad  roads  by  night.  The  pedlers 
buckle  up  their  packs,  and  the  curate  goes  to  sup  merrily 
with  some  brother  come  to  see  the  dancing,  perhaps  with 
a  sigh  at  not  being  able  to  take  part  in  the  sinful  pleas- 
ure. The  natives  thus  remain  in  possession  of  the  ground 
with  such  of  the  musicians  as  have  not  made  a  good  day, 
and  recompense  themselves  by  prolonging  it.  Now  all 
are  acquainted,  and  once  in  action,  they  repay  themselves 
for  having  been  scattered,  criticised,  and  perhaps  laughed 
at,  by  the  foreigners ;  for  in  the  Black  Valley  all  are 
called  foreigners  beyond  the  distance  of  a  league  round. 
Then  all  the  little  population  of  the  place  begins  to  dance, 
even  old  kinsfolk  and  friends,  who  had  been  timidly  with- 
held by  broad  daylight ;  even  the  fat  bar-maid  of  the 
cabaret,  who  has  been  hard  at  work  since  morning  serv- 
ing her  customers,  and  who  tucks  up  her  smoky  apron, 
and  frisks  with  superannuated  charms ;  even  the  little 
hunch-backed  tailor,  at  whose  embrace  the  girls  would 
have  blushed  in  the  daylight,  and  who  says,  grinning 
from  ear  to  ear,  that  all  cats  are  gray  at  night. 

Rose,  tired  of  pouting,  felt  a  new  desire  for  amuse- 
ment when  all  her  relations  had  gone.  Before  return- 
ing to  the  fete,  she  wished  to  see  the  maniac,  who  had 
slept  all  day  in  Chounette's  care.  She  softly  entered  the 
room,  and  found  her  awake,  sitting  upon  her  bed,  her 
manner  pensive,  and  almost  calm.  For  the  first  time  in 
a  long  while  Rose  dared  to  touch  her  hand,  and  ask  her 
how  she  did,  and  for  the  first  time  in  twelve  years  the 


^C  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 

maniac  did  not  withdraw  her  hand  and  turn  away  dis- 
diflplcased. 

"  My  dear  sister,  my  sweet  Bricoline,"  repeated  Rose, 
emboldened  and  rejoiced,  "  dost  thou  feel  better?  " 

"  I  feel  well,"  replied  the  maniac,  shortly.  "  I  have 
found,  on  awaking,  what  I  have  been  looking  for  these 
fifty-four  years." 

"And  what  wast  thou  looking  for,  my  darling?" 

"  I  was  looking  for  tenderness  I  "  answered  Bricolinc, 
in  a  strange  voice,  and  mysteriously  putting  her  finger  to 
her  lips.  "  I  have  sought  it  everywhere :  in  the  old  cha- 
teau, in  the  garden,  by  the  fountain,  in  the  hollow  way ; 
above  all,  in  the  warren  I  But  it  is  not  there.  Rose,  and 
thou  scekest  it  in  vain  thyself.  They  have  hidden  it  in  a 
great  subterranean  place,  which  is  under  this  house,  and 
it  will  be  found  under  its  ruins.  This  came  to  me  in 
Bleep,  for  while  I  sleep  I  always  think  and  seek.  Bo 
easy.  Rose,  and  let  me  alone  1  To-night,  no  later  than 
to-night,  I  shall  find  tenderness,  and  will  share  it  with 
thee.  Then  we  shall  be  rich  I  In  these  days  of  ours,  as 
the  gendarme,  who  is  placed  here  to  guard  us,  says,  we 
are  so  poor  that  nobody  will  have  us.  But  to-morrow. 
Rose,  no  later  than  to-morrow,  we  will  both  be  married ; 
I  to  Paul,  who  has  become  Jting  of  Algiers,  and  thou  to 
that  man  who  brings  the  sacks  of  grain,  and  always  looks 
at  thee.  I  will  make  him  my  first  minister,  and  it  shall 
be  his  business  to  have  this  gendarme,  who  is  always 
saying  the  same  thing,  and  has  made  us  suffer  so  much, 
burnt  at  a  slow  fire.  But  hush  !  speak  to  no  one  of  this. 
It  is  a  great  secret,  and  the  fate  of  the  African  war  de- 
pends upon  it." 

Rose  was  much  frightened  at  this  fantastic  address,  and 
dared  say  no  more  to  her  sister,  for  fear  of  exciting  her 
yet  further.  She  would  not  leave  her  till  the  physician, 
who  was  expected  at  this  hour,  should  come,  and  she 
even  forgot  her  desire  to  dance,  and  remained  pensively 
near  the  maniac's  bed,  her  head  drooping,  her  hands 
folded  in  her  lap,  and  her  heart  filled  with  deep  sadness. 
The  contrast  was  striking  between  the  two  sisters,  one  so 
horribly  wrecked  by  suffering,  so  repulsive  in  her  self- 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT,  247 

neglect,  the  other  so  carefully  adorned,  so  brilliant  with 
freshness  and  beauty.  And  yet  there  was  a  resemblance 
in  their  features,  and  in  the  bosom  of  each  smouldered, 
in  different  degree,  a  thwarted  love,  as  they  call  it  in 
this  country  —  both  were  sad  and  grave.  The  least  de- 
pressed of  the  two  was  the  madwoman,  who  revolved 
wild  projects  and  hopes  in  her  distracted  brain. 

Tiie  physician  came  punctually.  He  examined  the  pa- 
tient with  the  kind  of  apathy  felt  by  a  man  who  sees  noth- 
ing to  hope,  and  nothing  to  attempt  in  a  case  long  since 
desperate. 

''  The  pulse  is  the  same,"  said  he  ;  "  there  is  no  change." 
"  Pardon  me,  doctor,"  said  Rose,  drawing  him  to  one 
side.  "  There  is  a  change  since  yesterday  evening.  She 
screams,  sleeps,  speaks  differently  from  usual.  I  assure 
you  that  there  is  a  revolution  in  her  system.  This 
evening,  she  endeavors  to  collect  her  ideas  and  to  ex- 
press them,  although  they  are  the  ideas  of  delirium ;  is 
this  worse  or  better  than  her  ordinary  depression  ?  What 
do  you  think  of  it?" 

"I  think  nothing,"  answered  the  doctor.  "Every- 
thing may  be  expected  in  such  a  disease,  and  nothing  can 
be  foreseen.  Your  family  has  been  wrong  in  not  making 
the  sacrifices  necessary  to  send  her  to  one  of  the  estab- 
lishments where  the  faculty  are  particularly  occupied 
with  exceptional  cases.  For  myself,  I  never  boasted  of 
being  able  to  cure  her,  and  I  think  that  the  greatest  skill 
could  not  answer  for  it  now.  It  is  too  late.  I  only  do- 
sire  that  her  mania  of  silence  and  solitude  may  not  alter 
into  fury.  Avoid  contradicting  her,  and  do  not  make  her 
talk,  lest  her  thoughts  fix  themselves  upon  one  object." 

"  Alas  !"  said  Rose,  *'  I  dare  not  gainsay  you,  and  yet 
it  is  so  dreadful  to  live  always  alone,  a  horror  to  every- 
body I  When  at  last  she  seems  to  seek  some  sympathy, 
some  pity,  must  this  need  of  affection  bo  met  by  frozen 
silence?  Do  you  know  what  she  just  told  me?  She  said 
that  ever  since  she  became  crazy  (she  thinks  it  is  fifty- 
four  years)  she  has  been  seeking  for  tenderness.  l*oor 
girl,  she  has  certainly  ne\  er  foiuid  it !  " 

*'  And  did  she  say  this  in  reasonable  terms?  " 


248  ^^^  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 

"  Alas,  no  I  She  uttered  shocking  ideas  and  frightful 
menaces  at  the  same  time." 

"  You  see  that  these  outpourings  of  delirium  are  more 
dangerous  than  salutary.  Trust  me,  let  her  alone,  and 
if  she  wishes  to  go  out,  prevent  any  constraint  being  put 
upon  her  habits.  It  is  the  only  way  to  avoid  a  return 
of  yesterday  evening's  crisis." 

Rose  sorrowfully  obeyed ;  but  Marcelle,  who  desired 
the  retirement  of  her  chamber  to  write,  and  saw  her 
companion  sad  and  listless,  besought  her  to  go  and  amuse 
herself,  promising  that  at  the  first  cry,  or  symptom  of 
agitation  in  her  sister,  she  would  send  little  Fanchon  to 
inform  her.  Besides,  Mme.  Bricolin  was  also  busied  in 
the  house,  and  her  grandmother  urged  Rose  to  come  and 
dance  one  bourree  more  in  her  presence  before  the  close 
of  the  assembly. 

"  Remember,"  said  she,  "  that  I  count  every  fete  day 
now,  thinking  each  year  that  I  may  not  see  the  next. 
Let  me  see  thee  dance  and  amuse  thyself  to-day,  or  I  shall 
have  a  sad  thought  left  in  my  mind,  and  I  shall  fancy 
that  will  bring  me  bad  luck." 

Rose  had  not  taken  three  steps  on  the  terrace  before 
Grand-Louis  was  at  her  side. 

"  Mile.  Rose,"  said  he,  "  has  your  father  said  anything 
to  you  against  me  ?  " 

"No.  On  the  contrary,  he  almost  commanded  me  this 
morning  to  dance  with  you." 

"  But — since  this  morning?" 

"  I  have  scarcely  seen  him  ;  he  has  not  spoken  to  me. 
He  seems  much  occupied  with  his  business." 

"  Come,  Louis,"  said  the  grandmother,  "  thou  dost  not 
ask  Rose  to  dance !  Dost  thou  not  see  that  she  would 
like  to?" 

"  Is  it  true.  Mile.  Rose  ? "  said  the  miller,  taking  the 
young  girl's  hand ;  "  should  you  fancy  dancing  again  this 
evening  with  me  ?  '* 

"  I  should  like  to  dance,"  answered  she,  with  piquant 
nonchalance. 

"  If  with  any  other  than  me,"  said  Grand-Louis,  press* 


THE  MILLER    OF  ANGIBAULT. 


249 


ing  Rose's  arm  against  his  agitated  heart, ''  speak  :  I  will 
go  aud  find  him  !  " 

"  That  means,  perhaps,  that  you  could  wish  it  were  not 
you  ?  "  replied  the  roguish  girl,  stopping. 

"You  think  so?"  cried  the  miller,  transported  with  love. 
"  Ah  well !  you  shall  see  if  my  joints  are  stiffened  !  " 

And  he  drew,  almost  carried  her  to  the  midst  of  the 
dance,  where  in  another  moment,  both  forgetful  of  their 
uneasiness  and  their  troubles,  they  lightly  grazed  the  turf, 
holding  each  the  other's  hand  in  a  little  closer  pressure 
than  the  bourree  absolutely  required. 

But  this  rapturous  bourree  was  not  finished  when  M. 
Bricolin,  who  had  waited  for  this  moment  to  render  the 
affront  more  cutting  before  all  the  village,  rushed  into  the 
very  midst  of  the  dancers,  and  with  a  gesture  interrupt- 
ing the  bagpipe,  which  would  have  drowned  his  voice  — 

"  My  daughter !  "  cried  he,  taking  Rose  by  the  arm, 
"  you  are  a  modest  and  respectable  girl.  Never  dance 
again  with  people  whom  you  do  not  know  !  '* 

''  Mile.  Rose  is  dancing  with  me,  M.  Bricolin,"  replied 
Grand-Louis,  much  excited. 

"  That  is  the  reason  that  I  forbid  her,  as  I  forbid 
you,  yourself,  ever  to  take  the  liberty  of  asking  her,  or 
of  addressing  a  word  to  her,  or  ever  crossing  my  thresh- 
old, or  —  " 

The  farmer's  thundering  voice  was  choked  by  this  ex- 
cess of  eloquence,  and  as  he  stammered  in  his  rage, 
Grand-Louis  interrupted  him. 

"  M.  Bi  icolin,"  said  he, "  you  have  the  right,  as  a  father, 
to  control  your  daughter  ;  you  have  the  right  to  forbid  me 
your  house  ;  but  you  have  no  right  to  affront  me  in  public 
before  giving  me  an  explanation  in  private." 

"  I  have  a  right  to  do  everything  I  please,"  retorted 
Bricolin,  exasperated,  "  and  to  tell  a  rascal  just  what  I 
think  of  him  !  " 

"To  whom  do  you  say  that,  M.  Bricolin?"  asked 
Grand-Louis,  his  eyes  flashing  fire  ;  for  although  he  had 
said  to  himself,  at  the  beginning  of  this  scene,  "  Now  for 
it !  I  have  my  deserts,  to  a  certain  point !  "  it  was  impos- 
sible for  him  patiently  to  submit  to  insult. 


250  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 

**  I  say  it  to  whomsoever  I  think  proper,"  answered 
Bricolin,  with  a  majestic  air,  but  in  reality  suddenly  in- 
timidated. 

**  If  you  are  talking  to  your  cap,  it  matters  little  to 
mo,"  returned  Grand-Louis,  endeavoring  to  compose 
himself. 

'^  Just  look  at  this  madman  !  "  replied  Bricolin,  shelter- 
ing himself  in  the  inquisitive  group  that  crowded  around 
him ;  "  would  not  you  say  that  he  was  about  to  insult 
me,  because  I  forbid  him  to  speak  to  my  daughter?  Have 
I  not  the  right  to  do  so  ?  " 

"Yes,  yes,  you  have  the  entire  right,"  said  the  miller, 
forcing  himself  to  turn  away,  "  but  not  without  giving 
me  a  reason ;  and  I  will  come  to  ask  you  for  one  when 
you  are  cool,  and  I  too." 

''Dost  thou  threaten  me,  wretch?"  cried  Bricolin, 
alarmed,  and  calling  the  assembly  to  witness  ;  ''  he  threat- 
ens me !  "  added  he,  in  an  emphatic  tone,  and  as  if 
to  claim  the  assistance  of  his  friends  and  servants  against 
a  dangerous  man. 

*'God  forbid,  M.  Bricolin  !  "  said  Grand-Louis,  shrug- 
ging his  shoulders  ;  "  you  do  not  hear  me  —  " 

"  And  I  will  not  hear  thee.  I  have  nothing  to  hear 
from  an  ungrateful  and  false  friend.  Yes,"  added  he, 
seeing  that  the  miller  felt  more  sorrow  than  anger  at  this 
speech,  *'  I  tell  thee  that  thou  art  a  false  friend — a  Judas  ! " 

"  A  Judas?  no,  for  I  am  not  a  Jew,  M.  Bricolin." 

"  I  know  nothing  of  that !  "  returned  the  farmer,  becom- 
ing bolder  as  his  adversary  seemed  to  give  way. 

"  Ah  !  gently,  if  you  please,"  replied  Grand-Louis,  in 
a  tone  which  closed  his  mouth.  "  No  big  words  ;  I  re- 
spect your  age,  I  respect  your  mother,  and  your  daugh- 
ter too,  perhaps,  more  than  yourself;  but  I  will  not 
answer  for  myself  if  you  go  too  far.  I  might  reply,  and 
show  that  if  I  have  done  a  little  wrong,  you  have  done  a 
great  one.  Trust  me,  let  us  be  silent,  M.  Bricolin,  this 
might  lead  us  further  than  we  should  like.  I  will  come 
to  talk  with  you,  and  you  will  hear  me." 

"  Thou  shalt  not  come  !  If  thou  comest  I  will  turn 
thee  out  with  shame,"  cried  M.  Bricolin,  when  he  saw 


THE  MILLER    OF  ANGIBAULT.  251 

the  miller,  who  was  striding  away,  out  of  hearing. 
"  Thou  art  nothing  but  a  wretch,  a  deceiver,  a  con- 
spirator." 

Rose,  who,  pale  and  frozen  with  terror,  had  remained 
till  now  motionless  on  her  father's  arm,  was  seized  with 
an  energetic  impulse  of  which  she  would  not  have  believed 
herself  capable  an  instant  before. 

"■Papa,"  said  she,  drawing  him  forcibly  from  the 
crowd,  "  you  are  angry,  and  do  not  think  what  you  are 
saying.  Explanations  should  be  made  at  home,  and  not 
before  everybody.  You  are  treating  me  very  inconsider- 
ately, and  are  not  very  careful  of  my  reputation." 

"  Thou,  thou  !  "  said  the  farmer,  astonished,  and  ap- 
parently conquered  by  his  daughter's  courage.  "There 
is  nothing  against  thee  in  all  this,  nothing  to  hurt  thy  rep- 
utation. I  permitted  thee  to  dance  with  this  wretch,  it 
seemed  all  fair  and  natural  to  me,  and  to  everybody  else. 
I  did  not  know  that  this  fellow  was  a  villain,  a  traitor, 
a  —  " 

"  All  you  will,  father,  but  this  is  quite  enough,"  said 
Rose,  shaking  his  arm  with  the  force  of  a  spoiled  child. 
And  she  succeeded  in  drawing  him  towards  the  farm. 


35a  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 

THE   TWO    SISTERS. 

A^ME.  BRICOLIN  did  not  expect  to  see  hier  family 
^^  return  so  soon.  Her  husband  had  left  her  at  home 
without  telling  her  the  outrage  which  he  purposed.  He 
would  not  have  the  majesty  of  his  public  performance 
injured  by  her  shrill  outcries.  So  that  when  she  saw  him 
enter,  scarlet  with  anger,  panting,  growling  between  his 
teeth,  and  dragging  on  his  arm  Rose,  also  much  excited 
and  distressed,  and  her  eyes  swollen  with  irrepressible 
tears,  while  her  grandmother  pattered  after  them,  her 
hands  clasped  in  consternation,  she  drew  back  with  sur- 
prise ;   then,  raising  her  candle  to  their  faces  — 

*'What  is  to  pay?"  said  she;  "what  has  happened 
now? 

**  That  my  son  is  much  in  the  wrong,  and  talks  un- 
reasonably," answered  Mother  Bricolin,  letting  herself 
fall  into  a  chair. 

"  Yes,  yes,  it  is  the  same  story  as  yesterday  evening," 
said  the  farmer,  recovering  part  of  his  anger  with  the 
sight  of  his  wife.  "Enough  said!  Is  supper  ready? 
Come,  Rose,  art  thou  hungry?" 

"  No,  father,"  said  Rose,  dryly. 

"  Is  it  I  who  have  taken  away  thy  appetite?" 

"Yes,  father." 

"Is  that  a  reproach?" 

"  Yes,  father,  I  own  that  it  is." 

"Come  now.  Rose,"  said  the  farmer,  who  was  ready 
to  treat  his  daughter  with  all  possible  condescension,  but 
saw  her  for  the  first  time  somewhat  rebellious  towards 
him,  "  thy  behavior  does  not  quite  suit  me.  Dost  thou 
know  what  thy  ill-humor  might  make  me  think  ?  Thou 
wouldst  not  hoar,  I  hope  ?  " 


THE  MILLER    OF  ANGIBAULT.  253 

"  Speak,  speak,  father  !  Say  what  you  think  ;  if  you 
are  mistaken,  it  is  my  duty  to  justify  myself." 

"  I  say,  my  daughter,  that  it  would  be  ill  done  for  thee 
to  take  the  part  of  this  workman  of  a  miller,  on  whose 
back  I  will  break  my  rattan  some  one  of  these  fine  morn- 
ings, if  he   prowls  around  my  house." 

"  Father,"  replied  Rose  with  warmth,  "  I  will  venture 
to  tell  you,  should  you  break  your  stick  over  my  own 
back,  that  all  this  is  cruel  and  unjust,  that  I  am  mortified 
by  being  instrumental  to  your  public  vengeance,  as  if  I 
were  responsible  for  all  the  wrongs  that  have  or  have  not 
been  committed  towards  you  ;  that,  in  short,  it  all  pains 
me,  and  wounds  my  grandmother,  as  you  plainly  see." 

"  Yes,  yes,  it  troubles  me  and  vexes  me,"  said  Mother 
Bricolin,  in  the  quick,  short  tone  which  nevertheless  con- 
cealed great  gentleness  and  kindness  (and  it  was  in  this 
quickness  of  speech  and  tenderness  of  heart  that  Rose  re- 
sembled her).  "My  heart  bleeds,"  continued  the  old 
woman,  "to  hear  such  hard  words  given  to  an  honest 
lad,  whom  I  love  like  one  of  my  own  children,  and  the 
more  that  for  sixty  years  I  have  been  friends  with  his 
mother  and  all  his  family  —  ay,  and  a  family  of  fine  peo- 
ple !  And  Grand-Louis  will  bring  no  dishonor  upon 
them !  " 

"Oho  !  so  it  is  on  this  fine  gentleman's  account,"  said 
Mme.  Bricolin  to  her  husband,  "  that  your  mother  is  scold- 
ing, and  your  daughter  in  tears?  Look  at  her  there,  all 
weeping  !  Yes,  indeed  !  You  have  brought  things  to  a 
pretty  pass,  M.  Bricolin,  with  your  friendship  for  this 
great  booby  !  You  are  well  paid  for  it !  See  if  it  be  not 
a  shame  to  have  your  mother  and  daughter  take  his  part 
against  you,  and  cry  about  it  as  if — as  if — Blessed 
saints  !  I  will  not  say  what,  I  should  blush  !  " 

"  Say  anything,  mother !  Speak  ! "  cried  Rose,  completely 
irritated.  "  Since  you  have  so  well  begun  to  mortify  me 
to-day,  refuse  yourselves  nothing !  I  am  quite  ready  se- 
riously and  sincerely  to  answer  any  questions  upon  my 
sentiments  toward  Grand-Louis." 

"And  what  are  your  sentiments,  mademoiselle.'*"  said 


354  ^^^  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 

the  enraged  farmer,  in  his  roughest  voice ;  "  tell  us  at 
once,  80  please  you,  since  your  tongue  itches." 

"  My  sentiments  are  those  of  a  sister  and  a  friend ! " 
answered  Rose ;  "  and  no  one  shall  make  me  change 
them." 

"  A  sister !  a  miller's  sister !  "  said  M.  Bricolin,  chuck- 
ling, and  imitating  Rose's  tone ;  "a  friend !  a  peasant's 
friend  I  Fine  language,  and  very  suitable  for  a  girl  like 
you  1  Thunder  crush  me  if  the  young  girls  are  not  all 
crazy,  nowadays.  Rose,  you  talk  as  one  of  the  people 
might  in  a  mad-house  !  " 

At  this  moment,  piercing  shrieks  were  heard  from  the 
maniac's  apartment ;  Mme.  Bricolin  started,  and  Rosa 
turned  pale  as  death. 

'*  Listen,  father  !  "  said  she,  seizing  M.  Bricolin's  arm  ; 
*'  hear  that,  and  then  dare  to  laugh  at  the  insanity  of 
young  girls  I  Jest  upon  mad-houses,  you  who  seem  to 
forget  that  a  girl  of  our  rank  may  love  a  man  without 
fortune,  enough  to  fall  into  a  state  worse  than  death ! " 

"  Then  she  confesses  it,  she  proclaims  it ! "  cried  Mme. 
Bricolin,  divided  between  rage  and  despair ;  "  she  loves 
this  laborer,  and  threatens  us  to  be  like  her  sister !  " 

"  Rose  !  Rose  !  "  cried  M.  Bricolin,  shocked,  "  be  si- 
lent !  and  you,  Thibaude,"  he  added  imperiously,  "  go 
and  see  Bricoline." 

Mme.  Bricolin  left  the  room.  Rose  remained  stand- 
ing, her  face  convulsed,  frightened  at  what  she  had  just 
said  to  her  father. 

"  My  daughter,  thou  art  ill,"  said  M.  Bricolin,  much 
moved.     "  Thou  must  recover  thy  senses." 

"Yes,  you  are  right,  father,  I  am  ill,"  said  Rose, 
bursting  into  tears,  and  throwing  herself  into  her  father's 
arms. 

M.  Bricolin  had  been  alarmed,  but  it  was  impossible 
to  melt  him.  He  embraced  Rose  as  one  would  coax  a 
child,  not  soothe  an  adored  daughter.  He  was  proud  of  her 
beauty,  her  wit,  and  still  more  of  the  wealth  with  which 
he  would  fain  crown  her.  He  would  have  preferred 
bringing  her  into  the  world  ugly  and  stupid,  but  exciting 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 


255 


envy  by  her  riches,  than  perfect  aud  poor,  and  inspiring 
pity. 

"Little  one,"  said  he  to  her,  "thou  hast  not  com- 
mon sense  this  evening.  Go  to  thy  bed,  and  do  not 
tliink  of  this  miller  and  your  fine  friendships.  His  sister 
nursed  thee,  to  be  sure  ;  but,  zounds  !  she  was  well  paid. 
This  lad  was  thy  playmate  when  you  were  children,  to  be 
sure  again  ;  but  he  was  our  servant,  and  only  did  his 
duty  in  amusing  tlicc.  It  is  my  pleasure  to  dismiss  him 
to-day  because  he  has  played  me  a  vile  trick  ;  it  is  thy 
duty  to  think  me  right." 

"  Oh,  father !  "  said  Rose,  still  weeping  in  the  farmer's 
arms,  "  you  will  revoke  that  command.  You  will  permit 
Lim  to  justify  himself,  for  he  is  not  guilty,  it  is  impossible, 
and  you  will  not  compel  me  to  mortify  my  old  friend,  the 
son  of  the  good  mill-dame  who  loves  me  so  !  " 

"  Rose,  all  this  begins  to  be  very  disagreeable  to  me," 
replied  Bricolin,  extricating  himself  from  his  daughter's 
caresses.  "  It  is  too  absurd  that  a  family  affair  should  be 
made  of  the  expulsion  of  such  a  vagabond.  Come,  prithee, 
grant  me  peace !  Hear  how  thy  poor  sister  screams,  and 
do  not  concern  thyself  so  much  with  a  stranger,  when  dis- 
tress is  in  our  household." 

"•  Oh,  if  you  think  I  do  not  hear  my  sister's  voice,"  said 
Rose,  with  a  fearful  expression,  "  if  you  think  that  her  cries 
speak  nothing  to  my  soul,  you  are  mistaken,  father  !  I  do 
indeed  hear  them,  and  think  of  them  only  too  much  ! " 

Rose  went  out  tottering,  but  as  she  turned  towards  her 
sister's  chamber,  they  heard  her  fall  upon  the  corridor 
floor.  The  two  women,  terrified,  ran  to  her.  She  had 
fainted,  and  lay  like  one  dead. 

They  hastily  carried  her  into  her  chamber,  where  Mar- 
celle  was  wi-iting,  and  waiting  for  her,  little  suspecting  the 
storm  that  her  poor  friend  had  passed  through.  She  lav- 
ished the  tenderest  cares  upon  her,  aud  was  the  only  one 
who  liad  the  presence  of  mind  to  send  to  the  village  and 
see  if  the  physician  were  yet  there.  He  came,  and  found 
the  young  girl  in  a  violent  nervous  paroxysm.  Her  limbs 
were  stifi'ened,  her  teeth  clenched,  and  her  lips  livid.  She 
was  restored  to  consciousness  through  his  exertions,  but 


,56  THB  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 

her  pulse  passed  from  its  fearful  pause  to  a  buruing  energy. 
Her  large  black  eyes  shone  with  fever,  and  she  talked  hur- 
riedly without  knowing  to  whom  she  spoke.  Struck  by 
hearing  her  several  times  successively  pronounce  the  name 
of  Grand-Louis,  Marcelle  contrived  to  send  away  her  friglit- 
ened  parents,  and  to  remain  alone  with  her,  while  the  phy- 
sician went  to  the  elder  sister,  who  began  to  exhibit  the 
same  symptoms  of  fury  as  the  evening  before. 

"Dear  Rose,"  said  Marcelle,  pressing  her  companion 
to  her  heart,  ''  you  have  some  trouble  that  causes  your 
illness.  Be  calm,  to-morrow  you  shall  tell  me  all  about 
it,  and  I  will  do  anything  in  the  world  to  relieve  your 
suffering.     Who  knows  but  I  may  find  some  way  ?  *' 

"Ah!  you  are  an  angel!"  answered  Rose,  falling 
upon  her  neck.  "But  you  can  do  nothing  for  me.  All 
is  lost,  all  is  broken.  Louis  is  driven  from  the  house ; 
my  father  protected  him  this  morning,  and  hates  and 
curses  him  this  evening.     I  am,  indeed,  too  wretched  ! " 

"  You  really  love  him,  then  ?  "  said  Marcelle,  astonished. 

"Do  I  love  him?"  cried  Rose.  "  Can  I  help  loving 
him?     And  when  did  you  doubt  it?" 

"  Even  yesterday,  Rose,  you  would  not  confess  it." 

"  It  is  possible  I  might  never  have  confessed  it  if  they 
had  not  persecuted  me,  driven  me  to  extremity,  as  they 
have  to-day.  Conceive  it,"  said  she,  speaking  rapidly, 
and  holding  her  burning  brow  with  both  hands,  "  they 
tried  to  humiliate  him  before  me,  to  degrade  him  in  my 
eyes  because  he  is  poor,  and  dares  love  me  !  This  morn- 
ing, when  they  overpowered  him  with  their  mockeries,  I 
was  cowardly  ;  I  was  angry,  arid  dared  not  show  it.  I 
let  them  belie  him  without  venturing  to  defend  him ;  I  al- 
most blushed  for  him.  And  then  I  came  home  with  a 
violent  headache,  asking  myself  if  I  could  ever  have  the 
strength  to  brave  such  insults  for  his  sake.  I  imagined 
that  I  would  love  him  no  more,  and  then  it  seemed  to  me 
that  I  was  going  to  die,  and  that  this  house,  which  al- 
ways looked  beautiful  to  me,  because  I  was  brought  up 
here  and  was  happy  in  it,  became  dark,  dirty,  forlorn  and 
ugly,  as  it  doubtless  looks  to  you.  I  thought  myself  in  a 
prison  ;  and  this  evening,  when  my  poor  sister  told  me  in 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 


257 


her  madness  that  our  father  was  a  gendarme  who  kept 
us  in  sight  to  inflict  suffering  on  us,  for  an  instant  I,  too, 
was  as  if  mad,  and  seemed  to  see  all  that  ray  sister  saw. 
Oh  !  how  that  pained  me  !  And  when  I  recovered  my 
reason,  I  felt  indeed  that  without  my  poor  Louis,  life 
would  have  nothing  agreeable  or  endurable  for  me.  It 
is  through  my  love  for  him  that  I  have  met  all  my  troubles 
gayly  till  to-day  :  my  mother's  dreadful  temper,  my  father's 
insensibility,-  the  burden  of  our  wealth,  which  creates  only 
miserj^and  jealousy  around  us^and  the  spectacle  of  the 
terrible  calamities  by  which  my  sister  and  my  grand- 
father have  been  long  stricken  under  my  eyes.  All  this 
was  hideous  to  me  when  I  saw  myself  alone,  not  daring 
to  love,  and  forced  to  endure  it  all  without  the  consola- 
tion of  being  beloved  by  a  noble,  beautiful,  excellent 
being,  whose  attachment  indemnified  me  for  everything. 
Oh  !  it  is  impossible  !  I  love  him  ;  I  will  try  no  longer 
to  overcome  it.  But  it  will  kill  me,  see  you,  Mme.  Mar- 
celle  ;  for  they  have  driven  him  away,  and,  much  as  I 
may  suffer,  they  will  be  pitiless.  I  can  never  see  him 
more  ;  if  I  speak  with  him  secretly,  they  will  scold  me 
and  mock  me  till  my  brain  will  turn  —  My  poor  head 
that  I  thought  so  well  and  strong,  and  that  aches  now  so 
that  it  seems  as  if  it  would  break — Oh,  I  will  not  let 
myself  become  like  my  lister,  do  not  fear  for  me,  my  dear 
Mme.  Marcelle  !  I  will  sooner  kill  myself  if  I  feel  that 
her  malady  gains  on  me  —  but  it  will  not  gain,  will  it  ?  — 
Yet  when  I  hear  her  cry,  it  rends  my  heart,  it  runs  like 
ice  and  fire  through  my  veins.  A  sister,  a  poor  sister ! 
her  blood  is  the  same  as  mine,  and  her  anguish  is  felt  in 
my  body  as  in  ray  soul !  Oh,  heaven  !  madam !  O 
my  God  !  do  you  hear  her  ?  Hark  !  though  they  may 
shut  the  doors,  I  hear  her  still,  I  hear  her  always  !  —  how 
she  suffers,  how  she  loves,  how  she  calls  !  my  sister,  oh ! 
my  poor  darling,  who  was  so  beautiful,  so  sensible,  gen- 
tle and  gay,  and  now  she  howls  like  a  wild  beast  —  " 

The  poor  girl's  voice  was  lost  in  sobs,  and  her  weep- 
ing, long  repressed  by  a  violent  effort  of  her  will,  grad- 
ually became  inarticulate  cries,  then  piercing  shrieks. 
Her  face  changed,  her  wandering  eyes  grew  sunken  and 

17 


353 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT, 


dim,  her  clenched  hands  grasped  Marcelle's  arms  so  as 
to  bruise  them,  and  she  finally  hid  her  face  in  the  pillow, 
uttering  heart-rending  cries,  and  imitating,  by  a  fatal  and 
irresistible  instinct,  the  screams  of  her  unfortunate  sister. 

Startled  by  this  lamentable  echo,  the  family  left  the 
elder  for  the  younger  sister.  The  physician  came,  and 
learning  what  had  taken  place,  did  not  attribute  tiiis  vio- 
lent nervous  attack  simply  to  the  eflfect  produced  upon 
Rose's  imagination  by  tiie  insanity  of  her  sister.  He 
succeeded  in  soothing  her,  but  when  he  was  again  alone 
with  the  Bricolins,  he  spoke  to  them  with  some  severity 
on  the  subject.  ''You  have  been  long  imprudent,"  said 
he  to  them,  "  to  bring  up  this  young  girl  in  the  presence 
of  so  melancholy  a  spectacle.  It  would  be  judicious  to 
withdraw  her  from  it,  to  send  the  elder  to  an  asylum  for 
the  insane,  and  to  marry  the  younger,  in  order  to  dissi- 
pate the  melancholy  which  might  easily  grow  upon  her." 

*'  How  now,  M.  Lavergne  !  "  said  Mme.  Bricolin  ; 
*'  certainly,  we  only  desire  to  marry  her.  She  has  had 
plenty  of  chances,  and,  only  to-day,  here  was  her  cousin 
Honore,  who  is  an  excellent  match  ;  he  is  sure  to  have  a 
Imndred  thousand  crowns.  If  she  were  willing,  he  and 
we  would  ask  no  better  ;  but  she  will  not  hear  it  spoken 
of;  she  refuses  all  whom  we  propose  to  her !  " 

"  Perhaps  because  you  do  not  propose  the  one  who 
pleases  her,"  replied  the  doctor.  "  I  know  nothing  about 
it,  and  do  not  interfere  in  your  affairs  ;  but  you  are  well 
aware  of  the  cause  of  the  other's  misfortune,  and  I  strongly 
advise  you  to  take  a  diflferent  course  with  this  one." 

"Oh!  this  one!"  said  M.  Bricolin,  "it  would  be  too 
great  a  pity,  such  a  handsome  girl,  eh  !  doctor?" 

"  The  other  was  handsome  too  ;  you  do  not  remember 
it ! " 

"  But  in  short,  sir,"  said  Mme.  Bricolin,  more  irritated 
than  impressed  by  the  doctor's  frankness,  "  do  you  really 
think  that  my  daughter's  brain  is  diseased  ?  Her  sister's 
misfortune  was  an  accident,  arising  from  her  grief  at  the 
death  of  her  lover  —  " 

"  Whom  you  did  not  allow  hereto  marry  !  " 

"  Sir,  you  know  nothing  about  it.     Perhaps  we  might 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT.  259 

have  allowed  her,  if  we  had  known  it  would  turn  out  so 
badly.  But  Rose,  sir,  is  a  girl  of  good  constitution,  and 
very  rational,  and,  thank  God,  this  is  not  a  hereditary 
disease  with  us.  There  never  was  anybody  mad  that  I 
knew  of  in  the  Bricolin  or  Thibault  families  !  My  own 
head  is  always  cool  and  clear ;  my  other  daughters  are 
like  me ;  I  cannot  conceive  why  Rose  should  not  be  as 
well  made  as  the  rest." 

"  You  will  think  as  you  please,"  returned  the  physi- 
cian, "  but  I  declare  to  you  that  you  play  a  bold  game  if 
ever  you  thwart  your  youngest  daughter's  inclinations. 
She  has  a  fine  temperament,  but  nervous,  and  very  sim- 
ilar to  her  sister's.  Besides,  insanity,  if  not  hereditary, 
is  contagious  —  " 

"  Oh !  we  will  send  the  other  to  an  asylum,  we  will 
decide  upon  that  at  any  cost,"  said  Mme.  Bricolin. 

"  And  Rose  must  not  be  vexed,  dost  hear,  wife?"  said 
the  farmer,  pouring  down  glass  after  glass  of  wine  to  dull 
the  sense  of  his  domestic  troubles.  '*  There  are  actors 
at  La  Chatre,  we  must  take  her  to  see  the  play.  We 
wall  buy  her  a  new  gown  ;  two,  if  need  be.  Zounds  !  we 
have  enough  to  refuse  her  nothing !' — " 

M.  Bricolin  was  interrupted  by  Mme.  de  BlanchemoL 
who  desired  a  private  interview  with  him. 


a6o  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT, 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

THE   CONTRACT. 

AT  BRICOLIN,"  said  Marcelle,  following  the  farmer 
^^*  into  a  sort  of  dark  and  disorderly  closet,  where  he 
kept  his  papers  heaped  up  pell-mell,  with  various  agricul- 
tural implements  and  specimens  of  seeds,  "  are  you  pre- 
pared to  listen  to  me  calmly  and  gently  ?  " 

The  farmer  had  drunk  deeply,  to  fortify  himself  before 
going  to  insult  Grand-Louis  on  the  terrace.  On  return- 
ing, he  had  drunk  still  more  to  compose  and  refresh  him- 
self. In  the  third  place  he  had  drunk  to  dissipate  the 
melancholy  that  hung  over  the  house,  and  drive  away  the 
dark  thoughts  that  beset  him.  His  blue-flowered  china 
mug,  which  always  stood  on  the  kitchen  table,  usually 
served  him  as  support  or  stimulus  against  the  first  weight 
of  intoxication.  When  he  found  himself  alone  with  the 
lady  of  Bhmchemont,  and  deprived  of  the  assistance  of 
his  white  wine,  he  was  ill  at  ease,  mechanically  felt  upon 
his  writing-table  for  the  glass  which  was  not  there,  and, 
endeavoring  to  offer  a  chair,  threw  down  two.  Marcelle 
then  perceived  that  his  legs,  his  red  face,  his  tongue  and 
his  brain  were  all  under  the  influence  of  wine,  and  not- 
withstanding the  disgust  with  which  this  new  feature  in 
his  character  inspired  her,  she  resolved  to  enter  into  an 
open  explanation  with  him,  remembering  the  proverb  in 
vino  Veritas. 

Seeing  that  he  had  scarcely  heard  her  first  words,  she 
returned  to  the  attack. 

*'  M.  Bricolin,**  said  she,  "  I  had  the  pleasure  of  ask- 
ing you  whether  you  were  prepared  to  listen  with  com- 
posure and  kindness  to  a  rather  delicate  question  I  have 
to  put  to  you." 


THE  MILLER    OF  ANGIBAULT.  261 

"  What  is  it,  madam  ?  "  replied  the  farmer,  in  an  un- 
gracious, but  inefficient  tone.  Much  as  he  was  vexed 
with  Marcelle,  he  was  too  much  stupefied  to  testify  it. 

"  It  is  this,  M.  Bricolin,"  returned  she  ;  "  that  you  have 
forbidden  the  Miller  of  Angibault  your  house,  and  I 
should  like  to  know  the  cause  of  your  displeasure  with 
him." 

Bricolin  was  confounded  at  this  frank  manner  of  broach- 
ing the  subject.  There  was  a  bold  sincerity  in  Marcelle's 
bearing  which  always  constrained  him,  and  especially 
now,  when  he  had  not  the  free  exercise  of  his  faculties. 
Controlled  by  a  will  superior  to  his  own,  he  did  the  con- 
trary of  what  he  would  have  done  if  sober  —  he  told  the 
truth. 

"You  know,  madam,"  he  answered,  "the  cause  of 
my  displeasure.     I  have  no  need  to  tell  you." 

"  It  is  I,  then  ?  "  said  Mme.  de  Blanchemont. 

"  You?  no.  I  do  not  accuse  you.  You  simply  attend 
to  your  own  interests,  as  I  do  to  mine  —  but  I  call  it  a 
rascally  trick  to  pretend  to  be  my  friend,  and  to  go  at  the 
same  time  and  give  you  advice  against  me.  Hear  it, 
use  it,  pay  well  for  it,  you  will  not  fail  to  get  it.  But  as 
for  me,  I  turn  out  the  enemy  who  injures  me  with  you. 
There  now  !  And  so  much  the  worse  for  those  who  do  not 
like  it !  I  am  master  in  my  own  house  ;  for  in  short,  see 
you,  Mme.  de  Blanchemont,  I  tell  you,  each  one  for  him- 
self. Your  interests  are  your  own,  my  interests  are  my 
own. .  A  rascal  is  a  rascal.  In  these  days  of  ours,  every 
one  thinks  of  himself.  I  am  master  in  my  house  and  in 
my  family,  you  have  your  interests  as  I  have  mine ;  as 
for  advice  against  me,  it  will  not  be  missing,  I  tell  you  —  " 

And  M.  Bricolin  thus  went  on  during  ten  minutes, 
tediously  repeating  himself  without  perceiving  it,  and 
losing  at  each  word  the  remembrance  of  having  said  the 
same  thing  an  hundred  times  before. 

Marcelle,  who  had  rarely  been  near  a  drunken  person, 
and  never  talked  with  one,  listened  to  him  with  astonish- 
ment, questioning  within  herself  whether  he  had  not  sud- 
denly become  idiotic,  and  thinking  with  terror  that  the 
fate  of  Rose  and  her  lover  depended  on  a  man  who  was 


263  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIDAULT. 

hard  and  obstinate  when  sober,  and  deaf  and  stupid  when 
his  rudeness  was  softened  by  wine.  She  let  him  maun- 
der through  the  same  ignoble  commonplaces  for  some 
time,  then,  seeing  that  this  might  last  till  he  fell  asleep  in 
his  chair,  she  attempted  to  sober  him  by  abruptly  striking 
the  most  tender  chord. 

"  Let  us  see,  M.  Bricolin,"  said  she,  interrupting  him, 
**  you  positively  wish  to  buy  Blanchemont  ?  And  if  I 
should  accept  the  price  you  offer  me,  would  you  still  be 
angry  ?  " 

Bricolin  made  an  effort  to  raise  his  bloodshot  lids,  and 
look  steadily  at  Marcelle,  who,  on  her  part,  looked  firmly 
and  attentively  at  him.  Gradually  the  farmer's  eye 
brightened,  his  heavy  and  swollen  face  appeared  to  gather 
solidity,  and  it  seemed  as  if  a  veil  fell  from  before  his 
features.  He  rose  and  took  two  or  three  turns  through 
the  room,  as  if  to  prove  his  legs  and  collect  his  ideas. 
He  feared  it  was  all  a  dream.  When  he  again  sat  down 
opposite  Marcelle,  his  attitude  was  firm,  and  his  com- 
plexion almost  pale. 

"Pardon  me,  my  lady  baroness,"  said  he,  ''  what  did 
you  do  me  the  honor  to  say  to  me  ?  " 

"  I  say,"  resumed  Marcelle,  "  that  I  am  disposed  to 
give  you  my  estate  for  250,000  francs,  if —  " 

"  If  what?"  asked  Bricolin,  in  a  hasty  voice,  and  with 
a  lynx  glance. 

"  If  you  will  promise  me  not  to  make  your  daughter 
unhappy." 

"  My  daughter  !  What  has  my  daughter  to  do  with 
all  this?" 

"  Your  daughter  loves  the  Miller  of  Angibault ;  she 
is  very  sick  ;  she  may  lose  her  reason  by  it,  like  her  sis- 
ter.    Do  you  hear,  do  you  understand,  M.  Bricolin  ?  " 

"  I  hear,  but  I  understand  nothing.  I  see  that  my 
daughter  has  taken  some  love  fancy  into  her  head.  It 
will  pass  off  in  a  day  or  two,  as  it  has  come.  But  what 
great  interest  do  you  take  in  my  daughter  ?  " 

"What  matters  it  to  you?  Since  you  do  not  under- 
stand how  one  may  feel  friendship  and  compassion  for  a 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT.  363 

lovely  and  suffering  girl,  at  least  you  comprehend  tlie  ad- 
vantages of  being  proprietor  of  Blanchemont  ?  " 

"  This  is  a  jest,  my  lady  baroness.  You  are  mocking 
me.  You  have  spoken  to-day  with  my  greatest  enemy, 
Tailland  the  notary,  who  would  certainly  have  counselled 
you  to  keep  me  up  to  the  mark." 

"  Without  any  animosity  toward  you,  he  gave  me  the 
information  necessary  in  my  position.  Now,  I  know  that 
I  could  very  soon  find  a  purchaser,  and,  as  you  say,  keep 
you  up  to  the  mark." 

"And  it  was  the  Miller  of  Angibault  who  procured 
you  this  good  counsellor  all  in  secret  from  me  !  " 

"  What  do  you  know  about  it  ?  You  may  be  mistaken. 
Besides,  all  explanation  on  this  subject  is  useless  ;  if  I  am 
satisfied  with  your  offer,  what  matters  the  rest  to  you?" 

"But  the  rest  — the  rest  —  must  my  daughter  marry  a 
miller?" 

"  Your  father  was  one  before  taking  the  place  of  far 
mer  with  my  family." 

"But  he  made  money,  and  in  these  days  I  am  in  a  sit- 
uation to  have  a  son-in-law  who  would  assist  me  in  buy- 
ing your  estate." 

"  In  buymg  it  at  300,000  francs,  and  perhaps  more?  " 

"Is  it,  then,  an  absolute  condition?  You  wish  this 
miller  to  marry  my  daughter?  What  interest  have  you 
in  it?" 

"  I  told  you  —  friendship,  the  pleasure  of  making  oth- 
ers happy :  things  which  appear  fanciful  to  you ;  but 
each  one  according  to  his  character." 

"  I  know  very  well  that  your  husband,  the  late  baron, 
would  have  given  ten  thousand  francs  for  a  bad  horse, 
or  forty  thousand  for  a  bad  girl,  when  the  fancy  took 
him  —  the  nobility  have  such  caprices  —  and  one  can  con- 
ceive it,  it  was  for  himself,  and  gave  him  pleasure  ;  but 
making  a  sacrifice  purely  for  the  pleasure  of  others,  of 
people  who  have  no  claim  on  you,  whom  you  scarcely 
know  —  " 

"  Then  you  advise  me  not  to  do  it?" 

"  I  advise  you,"  said  Bricolin,  hastily,  frightened  at 


264 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT 


his  awkwardness,  "to  do  what  you  please  !     There  is  no 
disputing  tastes  and  ideas  ;  but  yet !  —  " 

**  But  yet  you  distrust  me,  it  is  plain.  Do  you  not 
believe  me  sincere  in  my  proposition  'i  " 

"Faith,  madam  !  what  security  should  I  have?  This 
is  a  queenly  fancy,  which  might  leave  you  at  any  mo- 
ment." 

"  For  that  reason  you  ought  to  be  speedy  in  taking  me 
at  my  word." 

"  Zounds  I  she  is  right !  *'  said  Bricolin  to  himself;  "  in 
her  madness  she  is  cooler  than  I.  Let  us  see,  my  lady 
baroness,"  said  he  aloud,  "  what  security  would  you  give 
me?" 

"  A  written  engagement." 

"Signed?" 

"  Certainly." 

"  And  I  must  promise  to  give  my  daughter  in  marriagft 
to  your  protege  ?  " 

"  You  will  give  me  first  your  word  of  honor." 

"My  word  of  honor?     And  then?  " 

"  And  then  you  will  go  immediately,  in  presence  of 
your  mother,  your  wife  and  me,  to  give  it  to  Rose." 

"My  word  of  honor?  Is  Rose,  then,  desperately  in 
love?" 

"Do  you  finally  consent?" 

"If  it  needs  only  that  to  please  the  child  I " 

"  It  needs  more." 

"Wiiatthen?" 

"  You  must  keep  your  word." 

The  farmer  changed  countenance. 

"Keep  my  word — keep  my  word!"  said  he;  "do 
you  doubt  it,  then  ?  " 

"  No  more  than  you  doubt  mine ;  but  as  you  require  a 
written  bond  from  me,  so  do  I  require  one  jfrom  you." 

"What  sort  of  bond?" 

"  A  promise  of  marriage,  which  I  will  myself  draw 
up,  and  whi»*,h  shall  be  signed  by  Rose  and  yourself." 

"  And  if,  after  all  this.  Rose  should  claim  a  dowry 
from  me  ?  " 

"  She  shall  renounce  it  by  the  bond." 


TH^  MILLER    OF  ANGIBAULT.  265 

"  This  would  be  famously  economical,"  thought  the 
farmer.  "  That  devilish  dowry  which  I  might  any  day 
have  been  called  upon  for,  might  have  hindered  my  buy- 
ing Blanchemont.  To  give  no  dowry,  and  have  Blanche- 
mont  for  250,000  francs,  is  a  profit  of  100,000  francs. 
Come,  it  is  not  worth  while  to  haggle.  Then,  too,  if 
Rose  went  crazy,  we  must  give  up  all  thought  of  a  son- 
in-law —  and  pay  a  doctor,  too,  by  the  year. — And 
then  again,  it  is  too  sad  ;  it  would  give  me  too  much  pain 
to  see  her  growing  ugly  and  dirty  like  her  sister.  Two 
crazy  daughters  would  be  a  disgrace  to  us.  The  girl 
will  have  a  queer  establishment,  but  the  manor  of 
Blanchemont  will  gild  over  many  things.  We  shall  be 
laughed  at  on  one  side,  but  envied  on  the  other.  Come ! 
I  will  be  a  kind  father.     It  is  not  a  bad  business." 

"  My  lady  baroness,"  said  he,  aloud,  "  suppose  we  see 
how  such  a  writing  could  be  turned !  It  is  an  odd  bar- 
gain, however,  and  I  have  never  seen  anything  to  pat- 
tern it  by." 

"  Nor  I,"  answered  Mme.  de  Blanchemont,  "  and  I  do 
not  know  whether  such  are  to  be  found  in  modern  legis- 
lation. But  what  matter  ?  With  good  sense  and  integ- 
rity, you  know  a  deed  may  be  drawn  up  more  valid  than 
any  lawyer's." 

"  That  is  daily  seen  :  a  wiU,  for  example.  Even  the 
stamped  paper  is  unnecessary.  But  I  have  some  here.  I 
always  keep  some.     One  should  always  have  it  at  hand." 

"Let  me  make  a  rough  draft  upon  common  paper,  M. 
Bricolin,  and  do  you  make  another.  Then  we  can  com- 
pare them,  discuss  them  if  necessary,  and  copy  upon 
stamped  paper." 

"  Do  so,  do  so,  madam  ! "  replied  Bricolin,  who  scarcely 
knew  how  to  write.  "  You  are  quicker  than  I,  you  will 
turn  it  better  than  I  could,  and  then  we  will  see." 

While  Marcelle  was  writing,  M.  Bricolin  went  to  a 
jug  of  water  in  a  corner,  and,  without  being  observed, 
rested  it  upon  a  shelf,  stooped  and  swallowed  a  large 
quantity.  "  One  needs  his  brains  in  such  a  case," 
thought  he ;  "  it  seems  to  me  that  mine  are  all  right 


266  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 

again,  but  it  is  a  good  thing  in  business  to  have  cold 
water  in  one's  blood,  it  makes  one  prudent  and  cautious.*' 

Marcelle,  inspired  by  feeling,  and  gifted,  besides,  with 
great  precision  of  thought  in  her  generous  resolutions, 
drew  up  a  writing  which  a  lawyer  might  have  confessed 
a  masterpiece  of  clearness,  although  it  was  written  in 
good  French,  did  not  contain  a  word  of  consecrated 
slang,  and  bore  the  impress  of  the  most  admirable  good 
faith.  When  Bricolin  heard  it  read,  he  was  struck  with 
the  precision  of  a  deed  which,  although  not  of  his  own 
dictation,  had  a  value  and  consequences  which  he  fully 
comprehended. 

"  The  devil  is  in  the  women  !  "  thought  he.  "  It  may 
well  be  said,  that  when  they  chance  to  understand  busi- 
ness, they  go  far  beyond  the  sharpest  of  us !  I  know 
that  when  I  consult  my  wife,  she  always  perceives  every- 
thing that  can  leave  open  a  door  to  my  advantage  or  det- 
riment. I  wish  she  were  here !  But  she  would  delay 
us  with  her  objections.  We  will  see  about  it  when 
it  comes  to  signing.  Yet  who  could  have  believed  that 
this  young  lady,  who  is  a  novel  reader,  a  republican,  and 
an  enthusiast,  was  capable  of  carrying  out  her  mad  freak 
so  wisely?  My  brain  turns  with  amazement.  Let  us 
have  another  glass  of  water.  Pah !  how  bad  it  is ! 
How  much  good  wine  I  must  drink  after  the  bargain,  to 
settle  my  stomach  I  " 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT.  267 


CHAPTER    XXXI. 

AN   AFTER-THOUGHT. 

nPHAT  appears  to  me  unobjectionable,"  said  M.  Bric- 
-*■  olin,  after  attentively  listening  to  a  second  and  third 
reading  of  the  deed,  and  following  with  his  eyes,  which 
grew  wider  and  brighter  at  every  line,  the  text  which  Mar- 
celle  held  before  them.  "  There  is  only  one  little  thing 
that  I  would  wish  to  correct :  the  price.  Mine.  Marcelle  ; 
it  is  truly  too  dear  by  20,000  francs.  I  did  not  reflect  at 
first  how  much  injury  my  daughter's  marriage  with  this 
miller  might  do  me.  People  will  say  that  I  am  ruined, 
since  I  establish  her  so  miserably.  It  will  destroy  my 
credit.  And  then  the  lad  has  nothing  to  buy  her  wedding 
presents  with.  There  is  another  outlay  of  8,000  or 
10,000  francs,  which  will  come  upon  me.  Rose  cannot 
do  without  a  handsome  trousseau — I  am  sure  she  de- 
pends upon  it  I  " 

"  And  I  am  sure  she  does  not  depend  on  it,"  said  Mar- 
celle. "  Listen,  M.  Bricolin,  she  is  crying !  Do  you 
hear  her  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  hear  her,  madam ;  I  think  you  are  mis- 
taken." 

"I  am  not  mistaken,"  said  Marcelle,  opening  the  door ; 
"  she  suffers,  she  sobs,  and  her  sister  screams !  How, 
sir,  do  you  hesitate  ?  You  are  offered  the  means  of  en- 
riching yourself,  and,  at  the  same  time,  of  restoring  her 
health,  her  reason,  perhaps  her  life ;  and  at  such  a  mo- 
ment, you  think  of  bettering  your  bargain  !  Verily  !  " 
added  she,  with  indignation,  "  you  are  not  a  man  ;  you 
have  no  feeling !  Beware,  lest  I  retract,  and  abandon 
you  to  the  calamities  which  weigh  upon  your  family  as  a 
punishment  for  your  avarice  !  " 


363  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 

The  only  thing  in  this  vehement  sally  that  the  farmer 
clearly  understood,  was  the  threat  of  breaking  off  the 
bargain. 

"Come,  madam,"  said  he,  "give  me  10,000  francs, 
and  all  is  settled." 

"Adieu  !  "  said  Marcelle.  "  I  am  going  to  see  Eose. 
Make  your  reflections,  mine  are  made  ;  I  will  make  no 
change  in  my  conditions.  I  have  a  son  ;  and  I  do  not 
forget  that,  while  thinking  of  others,  I  must  not  sacrifice 
him !  " 

"  Pray  sit  down  again,  Mme.  Marcelle,  and  let  us  leave 
poor  Rose  to  sleep.     She  is  so  ill ! " 

"  Then  go  yourself  to  see  her  !  "  said  Marcelle,  warmly, 
"  and  convince  yourself  that  she  is  not  asleep.  Perhaps 
the  sight  of  her  suffering  will  make  you  remember  that 
you  are  her  father." 

"I  do  remember  it,"  said  Bricolin,  alarmed  by  the 
thought  that  Marcelle  might  change  her  mind  if  he  gave 
her  time  for  reflection.  "  Come,  madam,  let  us  finish  up 
this  deed,  that  we  may  cure  Rose  with  the  news !  " 

"  I  hope,  sir,  that  you  will  plainly  and  simply  give  her 
your  consent,  and  that  she  may  never  know  that  I  bought 
it  from  you." 

"You  do  not  wish  her  to  know  that  it  is  a  condition 
between  us  ?  I  am  content !  Then  it  is  unnecessary  for 
her  to  sign  the  writing." 

"  Pardon  me ;  she  shall  sign  it  without  well  under- 
standing it.  It  shall  be  a  sort  of  dower  that  I  give  to 
her  betrothed." 

"  That  comes  to  the  same  thing.  But  it  is  all  one  to 
me ;  Rose  has  sense  enough  to  understand  that  I  would 
not  marry  her  so  poorly  without  making  sure  of  some  fu- 
ture advantage  from  it.  But  the  payment,  Mme.  Mar- 
celle ;  do  you  insist  upon  having  it  cash  ?  " 

"  You  told  me  that  you  were  prepared." 

"  Doubtless  I  am !  I  have  just  sold  a  large  farm, 
which  was  too  far  from  my  eye,  and  I  received  a  week 
ago  the  entire  payment  for  it,  which  is  a  rare  thing  with 
us ;  but  it  was  a  great  lord  who  bought  it,  and  such  peo- 


THR  MILLER    OF  ANGIBAULT.  369 

pie  always  have  full  coffers.  It  was  a  peer  of  France, 
mj  lord  duke  of  *  *  *,  who  wanted  to  make  a  park  of 
a  certain  shape,  and  as  my  land  precisely  suited  him,  I 
sold  it  dear,  as  was  just !  " 

"  No  matter  ;  you  have  the  money?  " 

"  I  have  it  in  my  pocket-book,  in  fine  bank-notes,"  said 
Bricoliu,  lowering  his  voice.  ""  I  will  show  them  to  ycu, 
to  make  you  quite  easy." 

And  after  having  bolted  the  doors,  he  drew  from  his 
girdle  a  huge  pocket-book  of  greasy,  shining  leather,  in 
which  were  stuffed  a  quantity  of  notes  upon  the  Bank  of 
France.  Astonished  at  the  indifference  with  which  Mar- 
celle  counted  them,  "  Oh  !  "  said  he,  "  it  is  frightful  to 
have  so  much  money  at  once  !  Happily  there  are  no 
more  chauffeurs^  and  one  can  venture  to  keep  it  unin- 
vested for  a  few  days.  I  carry  it  upon  my  person  all 
day,  and  at  night  I  put  it  under  my  pillow,  and  sleep  upon 
it.  I  am  so  anxious  to  be  rid  of  it !  If  I  had  not  had 
immediate  business  with  you,  I  should  have  bought  an 
iron  box  to  keep  it  in,  for  I  am  no  such  fool  as  to  confide 
it  to  notaries  or  bankers  !  So  I  wish  we  might  conclude 
our  bargain  this  evening,  that  I  need  no  longer  guard  this 
treasure." 

"  I  hope,  indeed,  that  we  may  conclude  it  at  once," 
.said  Marcelle. 

"  How,  then,  without  any  consultation.?  and  my  wife? 
and  my  notary  ?  " 

"  Your  wife  is  here  ;  as  for  your  notary,  if  you  send 
for  him,  I  must  also  summon  mine." 

'^  Trust  me,  madam,  these  devilish  notaries  will  ruin 
everything  !  I  am  as  wise  as  they,  and  you  also,  for  our 
deed  is  good,  and  if  we  have  it  registered,  it  will  be  dev- 
ilishly expensive." 

"  Then  let  us  do  without  this  form.  I  will  sell  to  you, 
as  they  say,  from  hand  to  hand." 

"  Such  an  important  bargain!  it  makes  one  tremble  ! 
But  this  is  only  a  promise,  after  all ;  suppose  we  sign  it?  " 

"  This  promise  is  as  good  as  a  deed.  I  am  ready  to 
sign  it.     Go  and  find  your  wife." 

"  It  must  be  so,"  said  Bricolin  to  himself.     "  If  only 


270  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 

we  do  not  lose  time,  and  the  wind  does  not  change  dur- 
ing the  hour's  dispute  that  Tliibaude  will  perhaps  keep 
up.  You  are  going  to  see  Rose,  Mme.  Marceller  Do 
not  tell  her  anything  yet." 

"  I  shall  take  good  care  not  to  do  so  !  But  you  permit 
me  to  give  her  some  hope  of  your  consent?" 

*'  As  things  stand  now,  that  may  be,"  answered  Bric- 
olin,  sagaciously,  considering  that  the  sight  of  Rose  and 
her  tears  was  the  best  means  of  holding  Marcelle  firm  to 
her  generous  inleutions. 

M.  Bricolin  found  his  wife  in  a  very  different  disposi- 
tion from  what  he  had  foreseen.  Mme.  Bricolin  was 
liarsli  and  shrewish ;  but  although  more  grasping  than 
licr  husband  in  the  details  of  life,  she  was  perhaps  less 
avaricious  as  to  the  whole  ;  sharper  in  words,  more  un- 
feeling in  appearance,  yet  a  good  occasional  impulse  was 
less  foreign  to  her  character  than  to  his.  Besides,  she 
was  a  woman  ;  and  the  maternal  sentiment,  though  hid- 
den under  rude  forms,  was  still  living  in  her  bosom. 

*'  M.  Bricolin,"  said  she,  coming  to  meet  him,  and 
irawing  him  into  the  kitchen,  where  a  wretched  candle 
was  faintly  burning,  "  thou  fmdest  me  in  trouble.  Rose 
IS  worse  than  thou  thinkest.  She  does  nothing  but  cry 
And  sob,  as  if  she  were  distracted.  She  is  in  love  with 
this  miller ;  it  is  a  punishment  from  Heaven  for  our  sins 
(iut  the  mischief  is  done,  her  heart  is  losi,  and  she  is  just 
AS  her  sister  was  when  she  began  to  break  up.  Then 
ftgain,  the  state  of  the  other  grows  worse,  and  threatens 
to  become  intolerable.  She  has  tried  to  break  the  doors, 
and  the  doctor  has  just  ordered  us  to  let  her  go  out  and 
wander  about  the  old  chateau  and  the  warren,  as  usual. 
He  says  that  she  is  used  to  being  alone,  and  in  constant 
motion,  and  that  if  we  keep  her  shut  up  with  people  about 
her,  she  will  become  furious.  But  I  tremble  lest  she 
should  kill  herself !  She  seems  so  evil-minded  to-night ! 
She,  who  never  speaks,  has  been  telling  us  every  horrible 
thing  in  the  world.  My  stomach  actually  turned  to  hear 
her.  It  is  abominable  to  live  so  !  And  then  to  think 
that  a  cross  in  love  was  the  cause  of  all !  Yet  we  brought 
up  all  our  daughters  equally  well.     The  others  have  mar- 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT.  27 1 

ried  as  we  wished  ;  they  do  us  honor  ;  they  are  rich,  and 
have  sense  enough  to  think  themselves  happy,  although 
their  husbands  are  not  so  very  sentimental.  But  the  eld- 
est and  youngest  are  iron-headed  ;  and  since  we  have  been 
so  unlucky  as  not  to  understand  what  would  ruin  the  one, 
we  ought  to  have  the  prudence  not  to  thwart  the  other. 
I  had  rather  she  had  never  been  born  than  to  have  her 
marry  this  miller  !  But  she  will  have  him,  and  as  I  had 
rather  see  her  dead  than  crazed,  we  must  do  the  best  we 
can.  So  I  tell  thee,  Monsieur  Bricolin,  I  give  my  con- 
sent, and  thou  must  needs  give  thine.  I  have  just  told 
Rose  that  if  she  absolutely  desires  to  marry  the  man,  I 
would  not  prevent  her.  That  seemed  to  calm  her,  though 
she  did  not  look  as  if  she  understood  or  believed  me. 
Thou  must  go,  too,  and  tell  her  the  same  thing." 

"  How  things  happen ! "  cried  Bricolin,  delighted. 
"  Here,  wife,  read  this  bit  of  writing,  and  tell  me  if  any- 
thing is  wanting." 

"  I  fall  from  the  clouds !  "  said  the  dame,  when  she 
had  perused  the  paper.  And,  after  various  exclama- 
tions, she  collected  all  the  energies  of  her  will  to  read  it 
again  with  the  keen  attention  of  an  attorney.  "  This 
writing  is  good  for  thee,"  said  she,  "  good  as  a  decision 
in  court.  Thou  hast  no  need  of  consultation,  M.  Bric- 
olin ;  thou  hast  only  to  sign.  It  is  clear  profit,  clear  good 
fortune  !  Our  business  is  settled,  and  Rose  will  be  con- 
tent. They  may  well  say  that  the  good  God  always  re- 
wards a  good  intention.  I  had  decided  to  give  her  to  her 
lover  for  nothing,  and  here  we  are  well  paid  !  Sign,  sign, 
my  old  man,  and  pay.  That  will  be  carrying  the  deed 
into  execution,  and  there  can  be  no  drawing  back." 

"  Pay  already?  so  on  a  sudden  !  upon  a  scrap  of  paper 
which  is  not  even  witnessed  ?  " 

"  Pay,  I  tell  thee !  and  have  the  banns  published  to- 
morrow morning." 

"  But  if  the  child  should  listen  to  reason !  Perhaps 
she  will  be  well  to-morrow,  and  will  consent  to  marry 
somebody  else,  if  we  talk  to  her,  and  if  thou  knowest 
how  to  coax  her.     Then  people  might  say  that  such  a 


273 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 


deed  was  folly  in  me,  a  piece  of  stupidity  which  could  not 
bind  my  daughter  —  " 

"  Well !  then  the  sale  would  be  annulled." 

"  Not  so  sure  !  one  can  always  go  to  law." 

"  Thou  wouldst  lose  !  " 

"  Not  so  sure  again  !  Besides,  what  matter  is  it?  The 
sale  would  be  suspended.  A  lawsuit  may  be  made  very 
long.  Thou  knowest  that  Mme.  de  Blanchemont  cannot 
wait.     She  will  be  forced  to  compromise." 

"  Bah  1  such  stories  make  one  ill-spoken  of.  Monsieur 
Bricolin.  One  loses  honor  and  credit.  It  is  always 
profitable  to  act  squarely." 

"  Well,  well,  we  shall  see,  Thibaude  !  Go  and  tell  thy 
daughter  that  it  is  settled.  Perhaps  when  she  feels  her- 
self no  longer  thwarted,  she  will  not  care  so  much  for  her 
Grand-Louis  ;  for  it  seemed  to  me  that  it  was  simply  the 
miff  between  her  and  me  which  troubled  her  head  so. 
But  say,  now !  the  miller  has  not  ill-manceuvred  in  this 
affair  !  He  has  found  means  to  secure  the  friendship  and 
protection  of  this  lady,  I  don't  know  how  —  the  lad  is  no 
fool !  " 

"  I  shall  detest  him  all  my  life  !  "  replied  the  farmer's 
wife ;  *'  but  it  is  all  one.  Provided  that  Rose  will  not 
become  like  her  sister,  I  will  hold  my  tongue,  and 
content  myself  with  turning  a  cold  shoulder  to  her  hus- 
band." 

"  Oh  !  her  husband,  her  husband  !     He  is  not  so  yet !  " 

"  All  the  same,  Bricolin.  It  is  a  settled  thing.  Gro 
sign." 

"  And  thou?  thou  must  sign  too  !  " 

"  I  am  ready." 

Mme.  Bricolin  deliberately  entered  her  daughter's 
room,  where  Marcelle  was  awaiting  her,  and  signed,  with 
her  husband,  upon  a  corner  of  the  bureau. 

When  this  was  done,  Bricolin,  with  a  look  of  savage 
triumph,  said  in  a  low  voice  to  his  wife : 

"  Thibaude  !  the  sale  is  good,  and  the  condition  is  null  \ 
Thou  didst  not  know  that,  thou  who  thinkest  thou  know- 
est everything ! " 

Rose    was    still   feverish,    and    suffering  from   violent 


THE  MILLER    OF  ANGIBAULT.  273 

headache  ;  but  her  nerves  were  more  calm  since  the  ma- 
niac was  out  of  the  house  and  her  cries  were  no  longer 
heard.  When  Marcelle  had  signed,  she  gave  the  pen  to 
her  young  friend,  who  was  with  difficulty  made  to  under- 
stand what  was  going  on  ;  but  when  she  comprehended 
it,  she  burst  into  tears,  and  threw  herself  affectionately 
into  the  arms  of  her  father,  her  mother,  and  her  friend, 
whispering  to  the  latter  — • 

"Divine  Marcelle,  I  accept  it  as  a  loan.  Some  day  I 
shall  be  rich  enough  to  repay  it  to  your  son." 

The  grandmother  was  the  only  one  of  the  family  who 
appreciated  the  nobleness  of  Marcelle's  conduct.  She 
knelt  before  her,  and  embraced  her  knees  in  silence. 

"  And  now,"  said  Marcelle,  in  an  under  voice,  to  the 
old  woman,  "  it  is  not  very  late,  only  ten  o'clock ! 
Grand-Louis  may  be  even  now  upon  the  terrace,  and 
besides,  it  is  not  so  very  far  from  here  to  Angibault. 
Suppose  that  some  one  were  sent  for  him?  I  dare  not 
propose  it,  but  he  might  be  brought  here,  as  if  by  chance  ; 
and  once  here,  he  could  easily  be  informed  of  his  happi- 
ness." 

"  I  will  see  to  it ! "  cried  the  old  woman,  "if  I  should 
have  to  go  myself  to  the  mill !  I  shall  be  as  active  as  at 
fifteen,  for  that !  " 

She  went,  in  fact,  to  the  village,  but  did  not  find  the 
miller.  She  would  have  despatched  one  of  the  farm- 
boys  for  him,  but  they  were  all  incapable  of  stirring  from 
their  drunken  sleep  in  their  beds,  or  at  the  cabaret.  Lit- 
tle Fanchon  was  too  much  of  a  coward  to  go  alone  at 
night,  and,  besides,  it  would  have  been  inhuman  to  expose 
the  child  on  a  fete-day  evening,  to  encounters  with  all 
sorts  of  people.  Mother  Bricolin  went  to  and  fro  upon 
the  almost  deserted  terrace,  seeking  some  one  sufficiently 
sober  and  prudent  to  intrust  with  her  commission,  when 
her  eyes  fell  upon  Uncle  Cadoche,  coming  out  of  the 
church  porch,  where  he  had  been  muttering  a  final 
prayer. 


18 


274 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT, 


CHAPTER    XXXII. 

THE   PATACHON. 

"VrOU  are  walking  late,  Mme.  Bricolin,"  said  the  meii- 
■^  dicant;  "you  seem  to  be  looking  for  some  one? 
Your  granddaughter  went  home  some  time  ago.  Her 
papa  vexed  her  preciously  to-day  ! " 

"  All  good,  all  good,  Cadoche,"  answered  the  old  wo- 
man ;  "I  have  no  money  with  me.  But  I  believe  they 
gave  thee  some  to-day,  at  our  house." 

"I  ask  nothing  of  you,  my  day  is  completed.  I  have 
drank  three  glasses  to-night,  and  walk  only  the  straighter. 
Look  you.  Mother  Bricolin,  neither  your  husband,  nor  the 
big  gentleman,  your  son,  can  carry  drink  as  I  do  at  my 
age.  I  wish  you  good-evening.  I  am  going  over  to  Angi- 
bault  to  sleep." 

"  To  Angibault?  My  old  Cadoche,  art  thou  going  to 
Angibault?" 

"  Do  you  wonder  at  that?  My  house  is  two  long 
leagues  from  here,  towards  Jeu-les-Bois.  There  is  no 
need  of  my  tiring  myself.  I  am  going  to  pass  the  night 
with  my  nephew  the  miller ;  they  always  receive  me 
well  there,  and  do  not  put  me  in  the  straw,  as  at  other 
houses ;  yours,  for  example,  where  you  nevertheless  are 
rich  enough  still,  notwithstanding  the  chauffeurs !  At 
my  nephew's  there  is  a  bed  for  me  in  the  mill,  and  they 
are  not  afraid  of  my  setting  it  on  fire,  —  as  at  your 
house,  where  there  is  always  fire  in  the  head,  if  not  at 
the  feet !  " 

These  allusions  to  the  catastrophe  of  which  her  hus- 
band had  been  the  victim,  sent  a  shudder  through  Mother 
Bricolin's  old  blood  ;  but  she  made  an  effort  to  think  only 
of  her  ^anddaughter,  and  of  better  days. 


THE  MILLER    OF  ANGIBAULT.  275 

"  So  thou  art  going  to  Grand-Louis's,  then?  "  said  she 
to  the  old  man. 

"To  be  sure,  to  the  best  of  my  nephews,  mjr  true 
nephew,  my  future  heir  !  " 

"  See  here,  then,  Cadoche  ;  since  thou  hast  thy  senses 
about  thee,  and  art  such  a  friend  to  Grand-Louis,  thou 
canst  render  him  a  famous  service.  I  have  some  press- 
ing business  with  him,  and  he  must  come  immediately  to 
speak  with  me.  Tell  him  so,  and  that  I  will  wait  for 
him  at  the  great  yard  gate.  Let  him  take  his  mare,  he 
will  come  the  quicker." 

"His  mare?  he  has  none.     She  has  been  stolen." 

"  Let  him  come  all  the  same,  no  matter  how !  the 
business  is  very  important  to  him." 

"And  what  is  this  business?" 

"  Good,  now  !  he  would  have  it  explained  this  minute  ! 
Cadoche,  there  shall  be  a  new  twenty-sous  piece  for  thee, 
if  thou  comest  for  it  to-morrow  morning." 

"At  what  hour?" 

"  When  thou  wilt." 

"  I  will  come  at  seven.  Be  ready,  because  I  do  not 
like  to  wait." 

"  Go,  then  ! " 

"  I  am  going.  I  shall  not  be  three-quarters  of  an  hour. 
Ah,  my  legs  are  better  than  your  husband's.  Mother  Bric- 
olin,  and  yet  I  am  ten  years  the  oldest." 

The  beggar  started,  indeed,  with  a  firm  step.  He  was 
near  Angibault,  when,  in  a  narrow  part  of  the  road,  he 
was  overtaken  by  M.  Ravelard's  carriage,  driven  in  full 
splendor  by  the  red-headed  and  evil-minded  patachon, 
who  scorned  to  cry  "  take  care  ! "  and  urged  his  horses 
upon  him. 

It  is  beneath  the  dignity  of  the  peasant  of  Berri  ever 
to  turn  aside  for  a  vehicle,  whatever  warning  he  receive, 
or  whatever  difficulty  there  may  be  in  turning  out  for 
him.  Uncle  Cadoche  was  prouder  than  any  other  man 
whomsoever  in  the  country.  Accustomed,  with  droll 
gravity,  to  treat  all  those  to  whom  he  extended  a  suppli- 
cating hand  as  his  unquestioned  inferiors,  he  now  affected 
to  slacken  his  pace,  and  to  keep  the  middle  of  the  road, 


276  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGJBAULT, 

altliough  he  felt  the  hot  breath  of  the  horses  upon  his 
shoulder.  "  Make  way,  stupid ! "  at  length  cried  the 
patachon,  accompanying  his  words  with  a  heavy  swing 
of  his  whip  around  the  old  man's  head. 

The  mendicant  turned,  and,  seizing  the  heads  of  the 
horses,  made  them  recoil  so  suddenly,  that  the  carriage 
was  nearly  overturned  in  the  ditch.  Then  began  a 
desperate  struggle  between  him  and  the  furious  pat- 
achon, the  latter  striking  with  his  whip,  and  uttering 
a  thousand  imprecations,  the  former  guarding  himself 
from  his  attempts  by  stooping  under  the  horses'  heads, 
and  continually  pressing  them  by  forcibly  shaking  the 
bits,  now  forcing  them  back,  now  obliged  to  fall  back  be- 
fore them.  M.  Ravelard  assumed,  at  first,  the  air  of  a 
grandee,  as  became  a  man  driving  for  the  first  time  in 
his  own  carriage.  He  himself  swore  at  the  insolence 
of  the  interruption ;  but  his  good  Berrichon  heart  soon 
overpowering  the  pride  of  the  parvenu,  when  he  saw 
that  the  old  man  was  madly  braving  real  danger,  he 
leant  from  the  carriage  and  said  to  the  patachon,  "  Take 
care,  take  care  not  to  hurt  this  poor  man  !  " 

It  was  too  late  ;  the  horses,  maddened  by  being  beaten 
on  the  one  side  and  restrained  on  the  other,  made  a  furi- 
ous bound,  and  overthrew  Cadoche.  Thanks  to  the  won- 
derful instinct  of  these  generous  animals,  they  cleared 
his  body  without  touching  it,  but  the  two  wheels  of  the 
vehicle  passed  over  his  breast. 

The  road  was  lonely  and  dark ;  too  dark  for  M.  Rav- 
elard to  distinguish  their  wearer  among  the  dingy  rags 
piled  on  the  earth  behind  his  rapidly  retreating  carriage. 
The  patachon  himself  had  lost  all  control  over  the  horses, 
and,  at  first,  the  bourgeois  thought  of  nothing  but  the 
danger  of  an  overturn  ;  when  the  animals  were  quieted, 
the  beggar  was  left  far  behind. 

"  I  hope  that  you  did  not  knock  him  down?"  said  M. 
Ravelard  to  his  driver,  who  was  still  trembling  with  fear 
and  anger. 

"  No,  no,"  said  the  patachon,  whether  sure  of  what  he 
affirmed  or  not.  "  He  fell  to  one  side.  It  was  his  fault, 
the  old  rascal !  but  the  horses  never  touched  him,  and  he 


THE   MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT.  277 

was  not  hurt,  for  he  made  no  noise.  He  will  get  off 
with  the  fright,  and  it  will  be  a  good  lesson  to  him." 

"But  suppose  we  went  back  to  see?"  said  M.  Rav- 
elard. 

*'  Oh  !  no,  no,  sir,  these  people  will  make  you  a  law- 
suit for  a  scratch.  He  would  think  nothing  of  pretend- 
ing that  his  head  was  broken,  to  make  you  give  him 
plenty  of  money.  I  came  across  such  a  fellow  once  who 
had  the  patience  to  stay  forty  days  in  bed  to  make  my 
citizen  indemnify  him  for  forty  days'  loss  of  work.  And 
he  was  no  more  sick  than  I." 

"  Such  people  are  very  cunning !  "  said  M.  Ravelard. 
"  Nevertheless,  I  had  rather  never  have  a  carriage  than 
to  run  over  any  one  whosoever.  Another  time,  my  boy, 
you  must  stop  short  rather  than  have  such  a  dispute ;  it 
is  dangerous." 

The  patachon,  who  wished  to  get  rid  of  the  conse- 
quences of  the  affair,  whipped  up  his  horses  to  get  the 
quicker  away.  He  was  not  free  from  terror  and  re- 
morse, and  swore  between  his  teeth  till  the  end  of  the 
journey. 

The  miller,  with  Lemor,  Grand'-Marie,  and  M.  Tail- 
land  the  notary,  came  at  this  moment  out  of  the  mill. 
Lemor  was  resolved  to  leave  the  next  morning,  and  on 
this  his  last  evening,  lost  in  a  tender  melancholy,  and  in- 
attentive to  what  was  said  around  him,  he  was  contem- 
plating the  beauty  of  the  heavens,  and  the  reflection  of 
the  stars  in  the  water.  The  miller,  gloomy  and  de- 
pressed, exerted  himself  to  be  polite  to  the  notary,  who 
had  been  drawing  up  a  will  for  a  farmer  of  the  neighbor- 
hood, and  had  stopped  on  his  way  past  the  mill,  to  light 
his  cigar  and  the  lanterns  of  his  cabriolet.  Grand'-Marie 
was  just  explaining  to  him  how,  by  taking  another  direc- 
tion, he  might  avoid  a  long  piece  of  stony  road,  and 
Grand-Louis  was  assuring  him  that  by  driving  slowly 
over  this  same  place,  or  walking  and  leading  the  horse, 
he  would  find  the  rest  of  the  way  better.  The  notary, 
when  his  comfort  was  concerned,  was  what  is  called  in 
that  part  of  the  country  extremely  fafiot;  an  untranslat- 
able word,  which  implies  a  man  at  once  very  dawdling 


27^ 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 


and  very  precise.  He  had  just  lost  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
which  he  might  have  spent  in  repose  at  home,  in  learning 
how  he  might  avoid  fifteen  minutes*  slight  fatigue. 

He  thought  that  walking  and  leading  his  horse  would 
be  still  more  fatiguing  than  enduring  the  jolts  in  his  cab- 
riolet, but  that  of  the  two  the  best  was  bad,  and  promotive 
of  indigestion. 

"Come,"  said  the  miller,  who  would  not  allow  his 
melancholy  to  overpower  his  natural  kindness  and  oblig- 
ing temper,  "  follow  me  slowly  up  the  hill  on  foot,  and  I 
will  drive  your  equipage  to  the  top.  When  we  have 
passed  the  vineyards,  you  will  have  firm  sand  the  rest 
of  the  way." 

While  good-naturedly  fulfilling  the  office  of  groom, 
Grand-Louis  was  soon  obliged  to  turn  the  cabriolet  al- 
most into  the  ditch,  to  make  way  for  M.  Ravelard's  car- 
riage, which  dashed  by  at  full  speed.  M.  Ravelard, 
preoccupied  with  his  encounter  with  the  mendicant,  neg- 
lected to  answer  the  miller's  friendly  "  good-evening." 

"  And  so  he  does  not  know  me  because  he  is  in  his 
carriage?"  said  the  latter  to  Lemor,  who  had  fol- 
lowed him  ;  "  money,  money  !  thou  turnest  the  world  as 
the  water  does  my  mill-wheel.  This  cursed  patachon 
will  smash  everything,  if  he  goes  at  this  rate  over  our 
flints.  No  doubt  his  head  is  full  of  wine  and  his  pouch 
of  money.  I  know  not  which  intoxicates  most.  Ah  ! 
Rose  !  Rose  !  they  will  give  thee  the  poison  of  vanity  to 
drink,  and  soon,  perhaps,  thou  also  wilt  forget  me.  Yet 
she  seemed  almost  to  love  me  this  evening  !  Her  eyes  were 
full  of  tears  when  they  parted  her  from  me.  I  shall 
speak  to  her  no  more  —  perhaps  she  will  regret  me  — 
Ah  !  how  happy  I  might  be  were  I  not  so  unhappy  !  " 

The  miller's  reflections  were  interrupted  by  a  start 
of  the  horse  whom  he  drove.  He  leaned  forwards, 
and  saw  some  light-colored  object  in  the  road.  The  horse 
obstinately  refused  to  advance,  and  the  shadows  were  so 
heavy  just  there,  that  Grand-Louis  was  forced  to  alight, 
to  see  whether  he  had  stumbled  upon  a  pile  of  stones  or 
a  drunken  man. 

*'  Oh,  the  devil,  good  uncle  !  "  said  he,  on  recognizing 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGISAULT.  279 

the  tall  stature  and  the  wallet  of  the  mendicant.  "  Last 
night  it  was  on  the  edge  of  a  ditch,  which  may  do,  but 
to-night  it  is  right  across  the  ruts  !  You  seem  to  have  a 
fancy  for  this  place,  but  it  makes  you  a  poor  bed.  Come, 
wake  up,  and  come  and  sleep  at  the  mill ;  you  will  be  bet- 
ter off  there  than  under  the  horses*  hoofs." 

"  This  man  is  dead  !  "  said  Henri,  raising  the  beggar  in 
his  arms. 

"  Oh  !  don't  be  afraid  ;  he  has  often  gone  through  this 
death  ;  it  is  a  common  thing.  Nevertheless,  our  gossip 
has  a  strong  head  for  drink,  but  on  a  fete  day  one  is  apt 
to  take  more  than  is  wise  ;  and  as  they  say  of  wine,  there 
is  no  friend  so  faithful  who  will  not  betray  you  at  last. 
Come,  let  us  leave  him  at  the  foot  of  this  tree,  we  will 
take  him  up  again  as  we  go  back." 

Lemor  touched  the  mendicant's  wrist. 

"If  I  did  not  feel  a  faint  motion  of  the  pulse,"  said  he, 
*'  I  would  swear  that  he  was  dead.  How  !  are  not  pov- 
erty, old  age,  and  desolation  enough,  but  a  degrading  vice 
must  drag  this  wretch  beneath  the  very  feet  of  men  !  And 
yet  he,  too,  is  a  man  !  " 

"  Bah !  you  are  severe,  like  a  true  water-drinker ! 
Who  was  it  that  said  the  poor  had  need  to  drink  away 
the  remembrance  of  their  woes  ?  I  have  certainly  heard 
it  somewhere." 

Just  as  Lemor  and  the  miller  were  about  to  leave  Ca- 
doche  for  a  time,  he  gave  a  deep  groan. 

*'  Ah !  well  now,  uncle,"  said  the  miller,  with  a  smile, 
*'  are  you  better  now?  " 

"  I  am  dead  ! "  feebly  answered  the  mendicant.  "  Take 
pity  on  me  —  finish  me  !   I  am  in  too  much  pain  !  " 

"  It  will  go  off,  uncle.  Some  cold  water  and  a  good 
bed  —  " 

"  They  have  crushed  me,  they  drove  over  my  body," 
resumed  the  old  man. 

"  That  is  not  so  impossible  !  "  said  Lemor. 

"  Oh,  he  always  talks  in  this  way,"  returned  tho 
miller,  who  had  witnessed  the  painful  vagaries  of  intoxi- 
cation too  often  to  be  much  troubled  by  them.     "  Let  us 


28o  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 

see,  Father  Cadoche ;  have  you  really  met  with  any  acci- 
dent?" 

"  Yes,  the  carriage,  the  carriage  —  on  my  chest,  my 
stomach,  my  arms  !  " 

"  Unfasten  one  of  the  lanterns  from  the  cabriolet,  and 
bring  it  here,"  said  the  miller  to  Lemor.  "  Now,  it 
lightens  one  corner  and  makes  another  darker  ;  when  we 
have  it  close  under  his  nose,  we  shall  soon  see  whether 
sickness  or  wine  ails  him." 

"  No,  not  wine,  not  wine,"  murmured  the  mendicant. 
"They  have  killed  me,  crushed  me  like  a  poor  dog  —  I 
shall  die  of  it.  May  the  good  God,  and  the  Holy  Vir- 
gin, and  all  good  Christians  take  pity  on  me,  and  avenge 
my  death ! " 

Lemor  brought  the  lantern.  The  beggar's  face  was 
livid  ;  his  garments  were  too  old  and  dirty  to  show  a  rent 
or  a  stain,  more  or  less  ;  but  on  removing  the  rags  which 
covered  his  breast,  there  appeared  on  his  gaunt  side 
marks  of  burning  red,  where  the  iron-banded  wheels  had 
passed  over  him.  Yet  the  skin  was  unbroken,  the  ribs 
did  not  seem  fractured,  and  his  breathing  was  still  free. 
He  could  even  describe  his  accident,  and  had  sufficient 
strength  to  pour  forth  all  the  imprecations  and  oaths  of 
vengeance  that  rage  and  despair  could  suggest  to  him, 
against  the  rich  man  in  his  carriage,  and  the  vile  merce- 
nary who  outdid  the  insolence  and  cruelty  of  his  master. 

'"Thanks  to  God  !  "  said  the  miller,  "you  are  not  dead 
yet,  poor  Cadoche ;  and  we  will  hope  that  you  may  not 
die  this  time.  See,  the  right  wheel  went  into  the  ditch  ; 
here  is  the  track  of  it.  It  was  that  saved  you  ;  the  car- 
riage, by  tipping  that  way,  bore  as  little  as  possible  upon 
you.  It  was  a  miracle  that  it  did  not  turn  over  en- 
tirely." 

"  I  did  my  best  to  make  it !  "  said  the  beggar. 

"Ah,  well,  your  malice  served  you  a  good  turn,  uncle. 
They  could  not  crush  you,  and  we  will  make  them  pay 
well  fior  this ;  not  poor  M.  Ravelard,  who  will  be  even 
more  sorry  than  you,  but  that  cursed  boy  !  " 

"  And  the  days  that  I  shall  lose  !  "  whined  the  mendi- 
cant. 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT.  281 

"  Ah !  faith !  you  gained  more  money,  perhaps,  in 
strolling  about,  than  the  rest  of  us  by  our  labor.  But 
you  shall  be  assisted,  Father  Cadoche  ;  we  will  make  a 
collection  for  you,  and  I  will  give  you,  myself,  your 
weight  in  grain ;  don't  be  worried.  When  there  is 
trouble  we  must  not  let  fear  make  it  worse." 

So  speaking,  the  good  miller,  with  Lemor's  help, 
placed  the  mendicant  in  the  cabriolet,  and  brought  him 
back  at  a  foot  pace,  avoiding  the  flints  with  the  utmost 
care.  M.  Tailhind,  who  was  climbing  the  hill  very 
slowly,  for  fear  of  losing  his  breath,  was  amazed  to  see 
them  return  ;  and,  on  being  acquainted  with  the  cause, 
readily  lent  his  cabriolet,  yet  not  without  some  concern 
on  account  of  the  delay  that  the  accident  would  occasion 
him,  and  the  fatigue  that  he  should  have  in  going  up  the 
hill  again,  when  he  was  already  near  the  top.  He  turned 
back,  nevertheless,  to  see  if  he  could  aid  his  friends  at 
the  mill  in  succoring  poor  Cadoche. 

The  old  man  fainted  when  they  laid  him  on  the  miller's 
own  bed.     They  held  vinegar  to  his  nose. 

"  I  should  like  the  smell  of  brandy  better,"  said  he, 
when  he  began  to  recover  ;  "  it  is  more  wholesome." 

They  brought  him  some. 

"  I  should  rather  drink  it  than  smell  it,"  said  he,  "  it 
is  more  strengthening." 

Lemor  opposed  this.  After  such  an  accident,  this 
burnino;  drauiiht  misht  and  would  create  a  terrible  access 
of  fever.  The  mendicant  insisted.  The  miller  would 
have  dissuaded  him,  but  the  notary,  who  had  been  too 
studious  of  his  own  health  not  to  have  some  medical 
prejudices,  pronounced  that  water,  under  such  circum- 
stances, would  be  fatal  to  a  man  who,  perhaps,  had  not 
swallowed  a  drop  for  fifty  years  ;  and  that  alcohol,  being 
his  ordinary  drink,  would  only  do  him  good  ;  that  fright 
w^as  his  only  serious  injury,  and  that  he  would  recover  his 
senses  with  the  excitement  of  a  dram.  The  mill-wife 
and  Jean,  like  all  peasants,  believed  in  the  infallible  vir- 
tues of  wine  and  brandy  in  all  cases,  and  declared,  with 
the  notary,  that  the  poor  man  must  be  satisfied.  The 
opinion  of  the  majority  prevailed  ;  and  while  they  were 


382  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 

gone  to  get  him  a  glass,  Cadoche,  really  parched  with 
the  thirst  excited  by  his  great  suffering,  carried  the  bot- 
tle hastily  to  his  lips,  and  swallowed  at  one  draught  more 
than  half  the  contents. 

"  Too  much,  that  is  too  much  ! "  said  the  miller,  stop- 
ping him. 

"  How,  nephew !  "  answered  the  beggar,  with  the  dig- 
nity of  a  patriarch  assuming  the  legitimate  exercise  of 
his  authority ;  *'  thou  measurest  my  portion  in  thy  house  ? 
Thou  art  niggardly  of  the  succor  necessary  in  my  condi- 
tion?" 

This  unjust  reproach  overcame  the  prudence  of  the 
good  and  simple-hearted  miller.  He  left  the  bottle  beside 
the  old  man,  saying  : 

"  Keep  it  for  another  time,  but  that  is  enough  for  the 
present." 

"  Thou  art  a  good  kinsman  and  a  worthy  nephew  ! " 
said  Cadoche,  who  appeared  suddenly  resuscitated  by  the 
brandy  ;  "  and  if  I  must  die,  I  had  rather  it  should  be  at 
thy  house,  because  thou  wilt  give  me  a  suitable  funeral. 
I  always  liked  a  fine  funeral !  Hearken,  nephew,  mill- 
boys,  notary !  I  take  you  all  to  witness,  that  I  direct 
my  nephew  and  heir,  Grand-Louis  of  Angibault,  to  have 
me  carried  to  the  grave  neither  more  nor  less  honorably 
than  they  will  soon  doubtless  carry  old  Bricolin  of 
Blanchemont  —  who  will  survive  me  but  short  time,  al- 
though he  be  the  younger  —  but  who  got  his  legs  burned 
when  —  Ah  !  ah  !  now  then,  say,  must  he  not  have  been 
a  fool  to  have  had  his  pins  roasted  for  the  sake  of  money 
that  had  been  left  with  him?  To  be  sure,  there  was 
some  of  his  own  with  it,  in  the  iron  pot !  " 

"What  is  he  talking  about?"  asked  the  notary,  who 
had  seated  himself  by  a  table,  and  was  not  sorry  to  see 
the  mill-wife  preparing  tea  for  the  sick  man,  intending  to 
take  a  hot  cup  himself,  as  protection  against  the  evening 
mists  of  the  Vauvre.  "  What  old  stories  is  he  telling 
of  his  roasted  pins  and  his  iron  pot  ?  " 

*'  I  believe  he  is  out  of  his  head,"  replied  the  miller. 
"  At  any  rate,  were  he  neither  sick  nor  fuddled,  he  is  old 
enough  to  dote,  and  the  adventures  of  his  youth  are  more 


THE  MILLER    OF  ANGIBAULT.  2 S3 

on  his  mind  than  those  of  the  present.  It  is  the  way  of 
age.     How  do  you  feel,  uncle?" 

"I  feel  much  better  since  that  little  drop,  though  thy 
brandy  is  devilish  weak !  Could  any  one  have  played 
me  such  a  trick  as  to  mix  water  with  it  for  economy  ? 
Hearken,  nephew  !  if  thou  refusest  me  anything  during 
my  sickness,  I  will  disinherit  thee  !  " 

"  Ah,  yes,  to  be  sure,  by  way  of  talking  sense !"  said 
the  miller,  shrugging  his  shoulders.  "  You  had  better 
try  to  sleep.  Father  Cadocbe." 

"Sleep,  I?  I  have  no  wish  to,"  replied  the  mendi- 
cant, raising  himself  on  his  elbow,  and  glancing  around 
with  sparkling  eyes.  "I  know  very  well  that  I  am  done 
for,  but  I  will  not  die  on  my  side,  like  an  ox.  Ugh  !  I 
feel  something  heavy  in  my  stomach,  there  on  my  heart, 
as  if  there  were  a  stone  in  its  place.  It  itches  —  it 
hurts  !  Grand'-Marie  !  make  me  some  bandages.  No- 
body here  takes  any  notice  of  me,  as  if  I  were  not  a  rich 
old  uncle  ! " 

"  May  not  his  ribs  be  crushed  in  .^ "  said  Lemor.  "  It 
may  be  that  which  oppresses  his  heart." 

"  I  know  nothing  about  it,  nor  does  any  one  here," 
said  the  miller  ;  "  but  we  could  easily  send  for  the  doctor, 
who  is  doubtless  still  at  Blanchemont." 

"And  who  will  pay  for  the  doctor?"  said  the  beggar, 
who  was  as  miserly  as  vain  of  his  pretended  wealth. 

"  I  will,"  answered  Grand-Louis,  "  unless  he  will 
come  for  humanity's  sake.  It  shall  never  be  said  that  a 
poor  devil  perished  at  my  house  for  want  of  all  the  help 
that  could  be  given  to  a  rich  man.  Jean,  take  Sophie 
and  go  quick  for  M.  Lavergne." 

"  Take  Sophie  ?  "  chuckled  Cadoche.  "Thou  sayest 
that  from  habit,  nephew  !  Thou  hast  forgotten  that  So- 
phie is  stolen." 

"  Sophie  stolen  ?  "  said  the  mill-wife,  turning  hastily 
round. 

"  He  is  wandering,"  replied  the  miller.  "  Don't  mind 
him,  mother.  Say,  Father  Cadoche,"  added  he,  turning 
to  the  mendicant,  and  lowering  his  voice,  "  how  did  you 


2S4 


THE  MILLER    OF  ANGIBAULT. 


know  that  ?  Cannot  you  give  me  some  news  of  my  beast 
and  the  thief?  " 

*'  Who  can  know  such  things  ? "  returned  Cadocho, 
with  a  cunning  look.  '*Who  discovers  thieves?  Not 
the  police,  they  are  not  bright  enough  !  Who  could 
ever  say  who  they  were  that  burned  Father  Bricolin's 
legs,  and  carried  off  his  iron  pot  ?  " 

"Ah!  say  now,  uncle,"  replied  the  miller,  "you  are 
always  speaking  to  us  about  those  legs  ;  you  must  think 
of  them  a  great  deal.  For  some  time,  whenever  I  meet 
you,  you  return  to  it ;  and  to-night  there  is  an  iron  pot 
added  to  your  story.     You  never  told  me  about  that." 

"Do  not  make  him  talk!"  said  his  mother ;  "thou 
wilt  increase  his  fever." 

The  mendicant  had  really  a  high  fever.  Every  time 
that  his  hosts'  backs  were  turned,  he  swallowed  furtively 
a  mouthful  of  brandy,  and  adroitly  replaced  the  bottle 
beneath  his  bolster  on  the  further  side  of  the  bed.  Each 
instant  he  appeared  stronger,  and  it  was  wonderful  to  see 
how,  at  his  advanced  age,  his  iron  frame  supported  the 
effects  of  an  injury  which  would  have  crushed  any  other 
person. 

"  The  iron  pot !  "  said  he,  gazing  at  Grand-Louis  with 
strange  eyes,  which  alFected  him  with  a  sort  of  inexpli- 
cable terror.  "  The  iron  pot !  that  is  the  best  of  the 
story,  and  I  will  tell  it  you." 

"Tell  us,  tell  us.  Father  Cadoche,  this  interests  me  ! " 
said  the  notary,  who  was  attentively  watching  him. 


THE  MILLER    OF  ANGIBAULT.  2S5 


CHAPTER    XXXIIl. 

THE   WILL. 

'T^HERE  was,"  resumed  the  beggar,  "  an  iron  pot,  an 
■^  old  ugly  iron  pot,  which  did  not  look  like  any  thing 
at  all  —  but  one  must  not  judge  by  looks  !  In  this  pot  — 
close  sealed  it  was,  and  heavy,  oh,  how  heavy  !  —  there 
were  50,000  francs  belonging  to  the  old  lord  of  Blanche- 
mont,  whose  granddaughter  is  now  at  the  Bricolin  farm. 
And  besides,  old  Father  Bricolin,  who  was  a  young  man 
then  —  it  is  now  just  forty  years  ago  !  —  had  laid  away 
in  this  pot  50,000  francs  of  his  own,  which  he  made  by 
a  good  speculation  in  wool  —  that  was  the  time  !  —  on 
account  of  the  army  contracts.  The  lord's  deposit  and 
the  farmer's  profits  were  all  in  fine,  handsome  louis  d'ors 
of  twenty-four  francs  each,  with  the  head  of  our  good  / 
king  Louis  XVI.  —  we  called  them  toad's  e?/es,  ^'^^^^^^^I^J 
of  the  round  shield  —  I  always  loved  that  coin  !  They 
say  it  loses  in  exchange,  but  I  say  it  gains.  23  francs 
11  sous  are  always  worth  more  than  a  wretched  Napo- 
leon of  20  francs.  All  this  was  pell  mell.  Only,  as  the 
farmer  loved  his  louis  for  themselves,  (that  is  the  way  to 
love  money,  children  !)  he  had  marked  all  his  with  a 
cross,  to  distinguish  them  from  his  lord's,  when  he  should 
have  to  restore  them.  He  followed  the  example  of  his 
master,  who  had  marked  his  with  a  plain  bar,  to  amuse 
himself,  so  they  said,  and  to  see  if  any  were  changed. 
The  mark  was  there  —  it  is  there  still  —  not  one  is  miss- 
ing —  on  the  contrary,  some  are  added  !  — " 

"  What  the  deuce  is  he  prating  to  us  about.?  "  said  the 
miller,  looking  at  the  notary. 

"  Hush  !  "  answered  the  latter.  "  Let  him  talk.  It 
seems  to  me  that  I  begin  to  understand.  So  that,"  said 
he  to  the  beggar  — 


2S6  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT, 

"  So  that,"  resumed  Cadoche,  "  he  had  put  the  iron 
pot  in  a  hole  in  the  wall,  at  the  chateau  of  Beaufort,  and 
had  it  plastered  up.  When  the  chauffeurs  came  after  him, 
—  you  are  not  to  think  that  these  people  were  all  vag- 
abonds !  Some  were  poor,  but  some  were  rich  ;  faith  I  I 
know  them  very  well !  Some  are  yet  living,  and  honored 
by  men.     There  were  among  us  — ■  " 

"  Among  you  ?  "  cried  the  miller. 

"  Hold  your  tongue  !  "  said  the  notary,  forcibly  pressing 
his  arm. 

"  1  mean  to  say  that  there  were  among  them,"  re- 
sumed the  mendicant,  "  an  advocate,  a  mayor,  a  curate, 
a  miller  —  perhaps  a  notary  also  —  eh  !  eh  I  M.  Tailland, 
I  do  not  say  that  for  you  ;  you  were  hardly  born  then  ; 
nor  for  thee,  nephew ;  thou  wouldst  have  been  too  simple 
to  have  done  such  a  thing  —  " 

*'  In  short,  the  chauffeurs  took  the  money  ?  "  said  the 
notary. 

"  They  did  not  take  it,  that  was  the  queerest  of  it. 
They  broiled  and  frizzled  that  poor  goose  of  a  Bricolin's 
feet  — that  was  horrid,  superb  to  see  !  *' 

"  You  saw  it,  then?  "  said  the  miller,  quite  unable  to 
contain  himself. 

"  Oh  no  !  "  returned  Cadoche,  "  I  did  not  see  it ;  but 
one  of  my  friends,  that  is,  a  man  who  chanced  to  be  there, 
told  me  all  this." 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  miller,  tranquillized. 

"  Now  take  your  cup  of  tea.  Father  Cadoche,"  said 
Grand'-Marie,  ''  and  do  not  chatter  so  much ;  you  will 
hurt  yourself." 

"  Go  to  the  devil  with  your  hot  water !  "  replied  the 
mendicant,  pushing  back  the  cup  ;  "  I  detest  your  slops  ! 
Let  me  tell  ray  story ;  I  have  had  it  long  enough  at 
heart ;  I  want  to  tell  the  whole  of  it  once  before  I  die, 
and  I  am  always  interrupted  !  " 

"  True  enough,"  said  the  notary  ;  "  this  morning  you 
wanted  to  tell  it  in  the  arbors,  and  everybody  turned 
away,  saying  '  Let  us  be  off !  Here  is  Father  Cadoche 
beginning  his  story  of  the  chauffeurs  !  *     But  it  amused 


THE  MILLER    OF  ANGIBAULT.  287 

me,  and  I  would  willingly  have  heard  the  rest.  So  aro 
on." 

"  You  are  to  understand,"  said  Cadoche,  "  that  this 
man  of  whom  I  speak  to  you,  and  who  was  there,  some- 
what against  his  will,  was  a  poor  peasant,  whom  they  had 
led  away ;  and  then,  when  fear  took  him,  and  he  showed 
signs  of  drawing  back,  they  threatened  to  blow  his  brains 
out  if  he  did  not  mount  the  horse  they  brought  him,  and 
which  was  shod  with  shoes  turned  backwards  like  those 
of  the  others,  so  as  to  leave  a  false  trail  on  their  retreat 

—  and  when  my  man  was  there,  and  saw  that  he  must 
do  like  the  rest,  he  began  to  hunt  and  rummage  everywhere 
to  find  the  money.  He  had  rather  do  that  than  help  to 
roast  poor  Bricolin,  for  he  was  not  a  bad  man,  this  fellow 
I  am  talking  about.  Fact !  this  job  did  not  please  him, 
and  was  horrible  for  him  to  see  —  it  was  ugly  —  the  pa- 
tient howling  loud  enough  to  split  one's  ears,  the  wife 
fainting,  those  cursed  legs  struggling  in  the  fire  that  I 
think  1  always  see  —  there  has  not  been  a  night  since  that 
I  have  not  dreamed  of  them  !  Bricolin  was  a  very  strong 
man  then  ;  he  stiffened  himself  so  that  an  iron  bar,  which 
was  in  the  midst  of  the  fire,  was  twisted  by  his  feet  —  ah  ! 
I  had  no  hand  in  it,  I  swear  before  God !  When  they 
forced  me  to  hold  the  towel  over  his  mouth,  the  sweat  raa 
down  my  face,  cold  as  hoar-frost  —  " 

"  Your  face?"  said  the  amazed  miller. 

"  The  man's  who  told  me  all  this.  Then  our  man  took 
a  good  chance  to  slip  one  side,  and  began  to  search,  search, 
from  the  top  of  the  house  to  the  bottom,  striking  with  a 
pickaxe  against  all  the  walls,  to  see  if  they  sounded  hol- 
low, and  smashing  everything  right  and  left  as  the  others 
did.  But  now  what  should  happen  but  that  he  stepped 
into  a  little  stable  for  pigs,  saving  your  presence,  and 
found  himself  all  alone  !  Ever  since  that  time  I  have  loved 
pigs,  and  raised  one  every  year.     He  knocked,  listened, 

—  it  sounded  hollow.  He  looked  round  him.  I  was 
all  alone !  He  worked  at  the  wall,  tore  it  away,  and 
found  —  guess  what  ?  The  iron  pot !  We  knew  that 
this  was  Father  Bricolin's  strong  box.  The  locksmith 
who  had  fastened  it  had  blabbed,  and  I  knew  at  ouce 


288  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 

that  this  was  our  flower-pot !  And  it  was  so  heary  !  All 
one  I  My  man  found  the  strength  of  an  ox  in  his  arms 
and  his  heart.  He  got  off  safe  and  sound  with  his  iron 
pot,  and  left  the  country  by  daybreak,  without  saying 
good-by  to  the  others.  He  was  never  seen  again  in  that 
district.  He  played  a  high  game,  you  see  !  The  chauf- 
feurs would  have  made  an  end  of  him  mighty  quick,  if 
they  had  caught  him.  He  walked  day  and  night  without 
stopping  to  eat  or  drink  till  he  came  to  a  great  wood, 
where  he  buried  his  pot,  and  slept,  I  don't  know  how 
many  hours.  I  was  so  tired  with  carrying  such  a  load  ! 
When  I  grew  hungry,  I  was  greatly  puzzled.  I  had  not 
a  single  sous,  and  1  knew  that  in  my  100,000  francs  every 
louis  was  marked !  I  had  looked  at  them ;  I  could  not 
keep  myself  from  doing  so  !  I  saw  that  this  cursed  mark 
would  be  recognized,  as  the  police  were  already  informed 
of  the  money.  To  scratch  it  out  would  have  been  worse. 
And  then,  if  a  poor  devil  like  the  one  I  speak  of  had 
offered  to  change  a  louis  d'or  for  a  loaf  of  bread  at  a 
baker's,  that  would  have  aroused  suspicion.  There  was 
only  one  thing  to  do  :  he  turned  beggar.  The  police  were 
not  so  efficient  in  those  times  as  now,  for  none  of  the  chauf- 
feurs left  the  country,  or  were  punished.  Beggary  is  a 
good  trade  when  one  knows  how  to  set  about  it.  I  have 
picked  up  something,  without  ever  depriviug  myself  of 
anything.  My  man  was  not  the  fool  to  call  in  a  lock- 
smith to  seal  up  the  iron  pot ;  he  buried  it  right  in  the 
middle  of  a  wretched  cabin  of  straw  and  mud,  which 
served  him  for  a  house,  and  which  he  built  for  himself 
in  the  heart  of  the  wood.  For  forty  years  nobody  has 
tormented  him,  because  nobody  envied  his  fate,  and  ho 
has  had  the  pleasure  of  being  richer  and  prouder  than  all 
those  who  despised  him." 

"  And  of  what  use  was  his  gold  to  him?  "  said  Henri. 

"  He  looked  at  it  once  a  week  when  he  returned  to  his 
cabin,  where  he  kept  all  the  money  that  he  received  in 
alms.  He  kept  on  his  person  only  wliat  he  chose  to 
spend  in  tobacco  and  brandy.  He  had  h  mass  said  from 
time  to  time,  to  acquit  liimself  towards  the  good  God,  ibr 
the  service  he  had  received,  and  so  he  drew  hinisclf  out 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT.  289 

of  the  scrape  with  much  order  and  wisdom.  He  is  not 
foolish  enough  to  let  go  a  single  piece  of  his  treasure. 
It  Avould  not  excite  suspicion  now  that  the  story  is  for- 
gotten and  the  prosecution  abandoned,  but  it  would  make 
people  think  him  rich,  and  then  they  would  give  him 
nothing.  There,  children,  that  is  the  story  of  the  iron 
pot.     TV  hat  do  you  think  of  it  ?  " 

"It  is  superb!"  said  the  notary;  "  and  well  worth 
knowing ! " 

The  narration  was  followed  by  a  deep  silence.  Each 
one  looked  at  the  others,  divided  between  surprise,  terror, 
contempt,  and  a  sort  of  odd  desire  to  laugh  mingled  with 
all  these  emotions.  Cadoche,  exhausted  by  his  garrulity, 
had  fallen  back  on  his  pillow.  His  pale  face  took  a 
greenish  tinge,  and  his  long,  stiff  beard,  still  black  enough 
to  darken  his  clay-colored  countenance,  made  him  abso- 
lutely frightful.  His  hollow  eyes,  which  lately  darted 
flames,  while  delirium  and  intoxication  loosened  his 
tongue,  seemed  to  sink  in  their  sockets,  and  take  the 
glassy  shine  of  death.  His  strongly-marked  face,  large, 
thin,  aquiline  nose,  and  compressed  lips,  might  have 
been  handsome  in  his  youth,  and  were  indicative,  not  of 
a  ferocious  nature,  but  of  a  singular  mixture  of  avarice, 
cunning,  timidity,  sensuality,  and  even  of  good-nature. 

"Uf!"  said  the  miller,  at  last,  "has  he  had  the 
nightmare,  or  have  we  just  been  hearing  a  confession .? 
Must  we  call  upon  the  doctor  or  the  priest?  " 

"Upon  the  mercy  of  God!"  said  Lemor,  who  had 
watched  with  more  attention  than  the  otliers  the  change 
in  the  face  of  the  beggar,  and  the  difficulty  of  his  res- 
piration. "  I  am  much  deceived,  or  this  man  has  but  a 
few  moments  to  live." 

"I  have  few  moments  to  live?"  said  Cadoche,  mak- 
ing an  effort  to  rise.  "  Who  says  so?  the  doctor?  I  do 
not  believe  in  doctors.     To  the  devil  with  them  all !  " 

He  leaned  toward  the  bedside,  and  finished  the  bottle 
of  brandy  ;  then  turning  back,  he  was  seized  with  a 
sharp  pain,  and  gave  a  cry. 

"  My  heart  is  thrust  in,"  said  he,  struggling  energet- 
ically against  his  suffering.     "  Very  likely  1  shall  not  get 

19 


290  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAUL7\ 

over  it.  And  if  I  should  never  return  to  my  house,  what 
will  become  of  everything?  And  who  will  take  care  of 
my  poor  pig?  He  is  used  to  live  on  the  bread  that  is 
given  me,  and  which  I  carry  to  him  every  week.  I  have 
a  little  neighbor-girl  who  takes  him  out  to  the  pastures. 
The  coquette  !  She  casts  sweet  eyes  on  me  —  she  hopes 
to  inherit  my  estate.  But  she  hopes  in  vain.  Behold 
my  inheritor !  " 

Aud  Cadoche,  with  a  solemn  air,  extended  his  hand 
towards  Grand-Louis. 

"  He  has  always  been  better  to  me  than  anybody  else  ; 
he  is  the  only  one  who  has  treated  me  as  I  deserve  ;  who 
has  given  me  a  bed  to  sleep  on,  and  wine,  and  tobacco, 
and  brandy,  and  meat,  instead  of  their  crusts  —  which  I 
never  touched  !  I  have  always  practised  one  virtue  — 
gratitude !  I  have  always  loved  Grand-Louis  and  the 
good  God,  because  they  have  been  good  to  me.  So  now 
I  will  make  my  will  in  his  favor,  as  1  have  always  prom- 
ised him.  Grand'-Marie,  do  you  believe  I  am  so  sick 
that  it  is  time  to  make  my  will  ?  " 

''  No,  no,  my  poor  man  ! "  said  the  mill-wife,  who,  in 
her  angelic  trustfulness,  had  taken  the  mendicant's  story 
as  a  sort  of  dream.  "  Do  not  make  your  will ;  they  say 
it  is  unlucky,  and  makes  one  die." 

"On  the  contrary,"  said  M.  Tailland,  "it  does  one 
good  ;  it  is  a  comfort ;  it  is  enough  to  restore  one  from 
death." 

"  In  that  case,  notary,"  said  the  beggar,  "  I  will  try 
the  remedy.  I  love  what  I  own,  and  I  want  to  be  sure 
that  it  will  pass  into  good  hands,  and  not  into  those  of 
the  little  jades  who  pay  their  court  to  mc,  and  who  shall 
have  nothing  of  me  but  the  bouquet  and  ribbon  from  ray 
hat,  to  make  themselves  fine  o'  Sundays.  Notary,  take 
your  pen  and  scribble  me  down  this  in  good  terms,  and 
without  omitting  anything : 

"  I  give  and  bequeath  to  my  friend  Grand-Louis,  of 
Angibault,  all  that  I  possess  :  my  house,  situated  in  Jeu- 
les-bois,  my  little  potato-plot,  my  pig,  my  horse  —  " 

"Your  horse?"  said  the  miller.  "Since  when  have 
you  had  a  Lorse  ?  " 


THE  MILLER    OF  ANGIBAULT.  291 

"  Since  yesterday  evening.  It  is  a  horse  I  found  as  I 
was  walking." 

"  May  it  not,  perhaps,  be  mine?" 

"  Thou  hast  said  the  word.  It  is  thy  old  Sophie,  who 
is  not  worth  her  shoes." 

"  Your  pardon,  uncle  !  "  said  the  miller,  half  pleased, 
half  vexed.  "  I  think  a  great  deal  of  Sophie  ;  she  is 
worth  more  than  —  many  people  !  The  devil !  you  were 
not  over  particular  when  you  robbed  me  of  Sophie !  and 
me,  who  would  have  trusted  you  with  the  key  of  my  mill ! 
Do  you  see  this  old  hypocrite  ?  " 

"  Be  silent,  my  nephew,  you  speak  foolishly,"  returned 
Cadoche  gravely  ;  "it  would  be  a  pretty  thing  if  an  uncle 
might  not  have  the  use  of  his  nephew's  mare  !  What  is 
yours  is  mine,  since,  by  my  intentions  and  my  will,  what 
is  mine  is  yours." 

"  Oh  !  ah,  to  be  sure  !  "  replied  the  miller  ;  "  hequeath 
me  Sophie,  uncle,  bequeath  away,  I  accept  that  much. 
It  is  lucky,  all  the  same,  that  you  had  not  time  to  sell 
her.     Old  rogue  !  "  he  muttered  between  his  teeth. 

"  What  dost  thou  say?  "  asked  the  beggar. 

"Nothing,  uncle,"  said  the  miller,  who  perceived  a 
sort  of  convulsive  rattle  about  the  old  man.  "  I  say  you 
did  very  well,  if  it  was  your  pleasure  to  ask  charity  on 
horseback ! " 

"Have  you  done,  notary?"  resumed  Cadoche,  with  a 
failing  voice.  "  You  write  very  slowly.  I  feel  myself 
sinking.     Hurry  yourself,  lazy  scrivener  !  " 

"  It  is  done,"  said  the  notary.  "  Do  you  know  how  to 
sign  ?  " 

"  Better  than  you  !  "  retorted  Cadoche.  "  But  I  do 
not  see.     I  must  have  my  spectacles  and  a  pinch  of  snuff." 

"  Here  they  are,"  said  the  mill-dame. 

"  That  is  good,"  resumed  he,  after  having  inhaled  a 
pinch  of  snuff  with  great  relish,  "  that  revives  me.  Come, 
I  am  not  dead  yet,  though  I  suffer  like  one  possessed." 

He  cast  his  eyes  over  the  will,  and  said,  "Ah!  you 
have  not  forgotten  the  iron  pot  and  its  contents  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not,"  answered  M.  Tailland. 

replied  Cadoche,  with  a  mocking  ex- 


292  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 

pressioD,  ''  though  all  that  I  told  you  about  it  was  a  story 
to  make  fools  of  you  ! " 

"I  was  sure  of  it!"  said  the  miller,  joyously.  "If 
you  had  found  that  money,  you  would  have  restored  it  to 
the  owners.  You  have  always  been  an  honest  man,  undo 
—  though  you  did  steal  my  mare.  But  that  was  one  of 
your  jokes  ;  you  would  have  brought  her  back  to  mo  I 
Come,  do  not  sign  this  nonsense ;  I  have  no  need  of  your 
little  things,  and  they  might  give  pleasure  to  some  poor 
body ;  besides,  you  may  have  some  relation,  whom  I 
would  not  wrong  of  your  last  sous." 

"  I  have  no  relations,  I  have  buried  them  all,  thank 
God  !  "  answered  the  mendicant ;  "  and  as  to  the  poor  — 
I  despise  them  !     Give  me  the  pen,  or  I  curse  thee  !  " 

"Well,  well,  amuse  yourself!"  said  the  miller,  hand- 
ing him  the  pen. 

The  beggar  signed  ;  then  pushing  away  the  paper  with 
apparent  horror — 

"  Take  it  away,"  cried  he,"  take  it  away  !  it  seems  to 
me  it  will  kill  me  !  " 

"  Shall  I  tear  it?"  asked  Grand-Louis,  quite  ready  to 
do  so. 

"  No  !  no  !  "  replied  the  mendicant,  with  a  last  effort 
of  will ;  "  put  it  in  thy  pocket,  my  boy,  maybe  thou  wilt 
not  be  sorry  for  it.  Ah,  so  !  where  is  the  doctor?  I  want 
him  to  come  and  make  a  quicker  end  of  me,  if  I  must 
feuffer  long  in  this  way  ! " 

"  He  is  coming,"  said  the  miller's  mother,  "  and  the 
curate  with  him  ;  for  I  sent  for  them  both." 

"  The  curate?  "  said  Cadoche  ;  "  what  for?  " 

"  To  give  you  some  consoling  words,  my  old  man. 
You  have  always  had  some  religion,  and  your  soul  is  as 
precious  as  anybody's  else.  I  am  sure  the  curate  will 
not  refuse  to  take  the  trouble  to  bring  you  the  sacra- 
ments." 

"  So  that  is  my  state?"  replied  the  dying  man  with  a 
deep  sigh.  "  If  that  is  the  case  —  no  nonsense  !  and  the 
curate  may  go  to  all  the  five  hundred  devils,  although  he 
is  a  good  man  after  all  —  when  he  is  sober.  But  I  don't 
believe  in  curates.     I  love  the  good  God,  and  not  tho 


THE  MILLER    OF  ANGIBAULT.  293 

priests.  The  good  God  gave  me  money,  the  priest  would 
have  made  me  return  it.  Let  me  die  in  peace  !  Nephew, 
thou  promisest  me  that  this  wretched  patachon  shall  die 
under  the  stick  ?  " 

"  No  !  but  to  thrash  him  soundly.*' 

"  Enough  talk,"  said  the  mendicant,  stretching  out  kis 
livid  hand.  "  I  wished  to  die  talking,  but  I  can  no  more 
—  Ah  !  I  am  not  so  sick  as  you  think,  I  am  going  to 
sleep,  and  perhaps  thou  wilt  not  inherit  so  soon,  my 
nephew !  " 

He  let  himself  fall  back,  and  after  an  instant,  there 
was  a  sound  as  of  boiling  water  in  his  chest.  His  face 
flushed,  then  turned  ashy  pale  ;  he  groaned  for  some  min- 
utes, opened  his  eyes  with  a  frightened  look,  as  if  death 
had  appeared  to  him  in  perceptible  form,  and  suddenly, 
half  smiling  as  if  he  had  recovered  hope  of  life,  he  gave 
up  the  ghost. 

In  the  death  of  even  the  worst  of  men  there  is  always 
something  solemn  and  mysterious  which  impresses  the 
religious  soul  with  respect  and  silence.  There  was  a 
moment  of  awe,  and  even  of  melancholy,  at  the  mill,  when 
the  mendicant  Cadoche  had  expired.  Notwithstanding 
his  vices  and  absurdities,  notwithstanding  even  the  ex- 
traordinary confession  they  had  just  heard,  and  which 
the  notary  alone  really  believed,  the  miller  and  his 
mother  had  a  sort  of  friendship  for  the  old  man,  arising 
from  the  good  they  were  accustomed  to  do  him ;  for  if  it 
is  a  true  saying  that  we  hate  people  in  proportion  to  the 
wrong  we  do  them,  the  opposite  maxim  should  be  also 
received. 

The  mill-dame  knelt  by  the  bed  in  prayer.  Lemor  and 
the  miller  also  prayed  in  their  hearts  the  Dispenser  of  all 
miercy  not  to  abandon  the  immortal  and  divine  soul 
which  had  made  its  earthly  passage  under  the  abject 
form  of  this  wretch. 

The  notary  alone  went  quietly  back  to  his  cup  of  tea, 
after  coolly  pronouncing,  "  lie^  missa  est,  Dominus  vohis* 

"  Gra?id-Louis,"  said  he  afterwards,  calling  him  out  of 
the  room,  "  thou  must  go  at  once  to  Jeu-les-bois,  beforo 


294 


THE  MILLER    OF  ANGIBAULT. 


the  news  of  this  death  reaches  there.  Some  vagabond 
Uke  himself  might  overturn  his  hovel,  and  steal  the  egg." 

"  "What  ^ZZ^'  '*  ^^^^  ^^®  miller.  "  His  pig,  his  change 
of  rags  ?  " 

"  No,  but  the  iron  pot." 

"  Fantasy,  M.  Tailland !  " 

"  Go  and  see,  nevertheless  !    And  then  thy  mare?" 

"Ah,  my  old  servant !  I  forgot — you  are  right.  She 
IS  well  worth  the  journey,  for  her  good  heart  and  our  old 
friendship.  We  are  nearly  of  an  age,  slie  and  I.  I  will 
go,  but  what  if  he  only  jested  with  me  about  that  too  ? 
He  was  an  old  rogue  !  " 

"  Go,  go,  I  tell  thee  —  no  laziness  !  T  believe  in  this 
iron  pot.     I  believe  in  it  firm  as  iron,  as  they  say  here." 

"  But  tell  me  then,  M.  Tailland,  is  it  really  of  any 
Talue,  that  bit  of  paper  that  you  scribbled  over  for  your 
amusement  ?  " 

"  I  answer  for  its  being  in  good  form,  and  it  may  ren- 
der thee  possessor  of  one  hundred  thousand  francs." 

"  Me?  but  you  forget  that  if  the  story  is  true,  half  of 
it  belongs  to  Mme.  de  Blanchemont,  and  the  rest  to 
Bricolin." 

"  Still  another  reason  for  haste.  Thy  heart  has  ac- 
cepted the  charge  of  restitution.  Go  and  seek  it.  When 
thou  hast  rendered  this  service  to  M.  Bricolin,  it  will  go 
hard  but  he  gives  thee  his  daughter." 

"  His  daughter !  Do  I  pretend  to  his  daughter?  Can 
his  daughter  think  of  me  ?  "  said  the  miller,  blushing. 

"  Good,  good !  Discretion  is  a  virtue,  but  I  saw  you 
dancing  together  to-day,  and  I  know  why  the  father 
parted  you  so  roughly." 

"  M.  Tailland,  put  all  that  out  of  your  mind.  I  am 
going.  If  there  is  really  a  treasure,  what  shall  I  do  with 
it  ?     Is  not  a  declaration  before  a  magistrate  necessary  ?  " 

"To  what  purpose?  The  formalities  of  justice  were 
invented  for  those  who  have  no  justice  in  their  hearts. 
What  good  would  it  do  to  dishonor  the  memory  of  an 
old  rogue  who  has  succeeded  for  eighty  years  in  passing 
for  an  honest  man?     And  thou  hast  no  need  to  prove 


THE  MILLER    OF  ANGIBAULT. 


295 


that  thou  art  not  a  thief,  everybody  knows  it.  Thou 
wilt  restore  the  money  and  all  will  be  right." 

"But  if  the  old  man  has  relations?'* 

"He  has  none;  and  if  he  had,  wouldst  thou  make 
them  inherit  what  does  not  belong  to  them  ?  " 

"  True,  true,  I  am  all  confused  by  what  has  just  taken 
place.     I  will  go  mount  my  horse." 

"  That  will  not  be  convenient  for  brinsins:  back  this 
famous  iron  pot,  which  is  so  heavy,  so  heavy  !  Are  the 
roads  tolerable  down  there  ?  " 

"  Certainly.  From  here  you  go  to  Transault,  thence 
to  Lys-St.-George,  and  then  to  Jeu.  It  is  all  cross-road, 
and  newly  repaired." 

"  In  that  case,  take  my  carriage,  Grand-Louis,  and  be 
quick." 

"Well,  and  you?" 

"  I  will  sleep  here,  and  wait  for  you." 

"  The  devil  take  me  but  you  are  a  fine  fellow  !  And 
what  if  the  beds  are  poor,  for  you  are  rather  delicate  ?  " 

"  So  much  the  worse  !  One  night  is  soon  over.  Be- 
sides, we  cannot  leave  thy  mother  alone  with  the  corpse, 
it  is  too  dismal.  For  thou  must  take  thy  mill-boy.  Two 
are  none  too  many  to  carry  money.  Thou  wilt  find 
loaded  pistols  in  the  pockets  of  my  cabriolet,  I  often  have 
things  of  value  to  carry,  and  never  travel  without  my 
arms.  Come,  be  off!  Tell  thy  mother  to  make  me  some 
more  tea.  We  will  talk  as  long  as  we  can,  for  this  corpse 
annoys  me." 

Five  minutes  later,  Lemor  and  the  miller  were  on  the 
road  to  Jeu-les-bois,  through  the  dark  night.  We  will 
give  them  time  to  arrive  there,  and  return  to  see  how 
matters  went  on  at  the  farm  during  the  time  of  their 
journey. 


2q6         the  miller  of  angidault. 


CHAPTER    XXXIV. 

DISASTEB. 

/GRANDMOTHER  BRICOLIN  was  very  impatient 
^^  at  the  delay  of  the  miller.  She  was  far  from  think- 
ing that  her  messenger  would  never  return  to  claim  his 
promised  reward,  and  the  reader  will  easily  understand 
that  the  mendicant  forgot,  at  the  moment  of  his  death, 
to  give  the  message  which  had  been  intrusted  to  him. 
At  last,  weary  and  discouraged  with  waiting,  she  re- 
turned to  her  old  spouse,  after  having  assured  herself 
that  the  maniac  was  still  roaming  in  the  warren,  ab- 
sorbed, as  usual,  in  rumination,  and  that  the  quiet  echoes 
of  the  valley  were  no  longer  awakened  by  her  ill-boding 
cries.  It  was  about  midnight.  A  few  unsteady  voices 
still  rose  as  their  owners  left  the  cabarets,  and  the  dogs 
at  the  farm,  as  if  recognizing  familiar  tones,  disdained 
to  bark. 

M.  Bricolin,  urged  on  by  his  wife,  who  desired  the  in- 
stant execution  of  the  deed  drawn  up  by  Marcelle,  had, 
not  without  pain  and  terror,  delivered  to  the  latter  the 
pocket-book  containing  two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand 
francs.  Marcelle  was  quite  unmoved  on  receiving  this 
venerable  object.  It  was  so  dirty  that  she  took  it  with 
her  finger  ends,  and,  tired  of  thinking  of  an  affair  in 
which  she  had  been  so  much  disgusted  by  the  cupidity  of 
others,  she  threw  it  into  a  corner  of  Rose's  secretary. 
She  had  accepted  this  prompt  payment  for  the  same 
reason  that  had  impelled  the  purchaser  to  make  it, 
namely,  to  bind  him,  and  secure  the  destiny  of  the 
young  girl  by  preventing  any  possibility  of  retraction. 

She  desired  Fanchon,  at  whatever  hour  Grand-Louis 
should  present  himself,  to  take  him  into  the  kitchen,  and 


THE  MILLER    OF  ANGIBAULT.  297 

come  to  call  her.  Then  she  threw  herself  —  dressed  as 
she  was  —  upon  her  bed  to  rest,  without  sleeping,  for 
Rose  was  still  much  excited,  and  seemed  never  weary  of 
blessing  her,  and  talking  to  her  of  her  happiness.  Mean- 
while, the  miller  not  arriving,  and  every  one's  strength 
being  exhausted  by  the  emotions  of  the  day,  towards  two 
in  the  morning  all  at  the  farm  were  in  deep  sleep.  One 
of  the  family  must  be  excepted  —  the  maniac,  whose 
brain  was  wrought  to  a  paroxysm  of  intolerable  fever. 

M.  and  Mme.  Bricolin  had  talked  long  together  in  the 
kitchen.  The  former  having  nothing  more  to  fear,  and 
feeling  chilled  by  all  the  water  he  had  drank,  had  re- 
turned to  his  mug,  which  he  filled  from  hour  to  hour  by 
tipping  with  an  unsteady  hand  an  enormous  jug  that 
stood  beside  him,  filled  with  purple,  foaming  wine.  It 
was  unpressed  wine,  the  most  heady  of  his  vintage,  a  de- 
testable beverage,  but  preferred  by  a  Berrichon  to  any 
wine  in  the  world. 

His  wife,  seeing  that  neither  the  satisfaction  of  being 
proprietor  of  Blanchemont,  nor  the  smiling  projects  of 
his  opulence,  could  brighten  his  dull  eye,  or  loosen  his 
fixed  jaw,  had  repeatedly  advised  him  to  go  to  bed.  He 
always  replied,  "  Directly.  I  am  just  going,"  but  with- 
out quitting  his  chair.  At  last,  after  having  been  to  see 
that  Rose  as  well  as  Marcelle  was  sleeping,  Mme.  Bric- 
olin could  endure  it  no  longer,  and  went  to  bed  and  to 
sleep,  calling  vainly  to  her  husband,  who  had  not  force 
enough  left  to  stir,  and  did  not  now  even  hear  her. 
Completely  intoxicated  and  prostrated  —  as  a  man  always 
is  who  has  made  an  effort  to  sober  himself  suddenly,  and 
has  amply  repaid  himself  afterwards  —  the  farmer,  his 
hand  on  his  mug,  and  his  head  sunk  on  the  table,  made 
a  lullaby  of  portentous  snores  for  the  wearied  sleep  of 
his  wife,  who  was  in  bed  in  the  next  room,  with  the  door 
open. 

An  hour  had  scarcely  passed  away,  when  M.  Bricolin 
felt  himself  suffocating,  and  ready  to  sink  with  faintness. 
He  could  hardly  rise.  It  seemed  to  him  that  there  was 
no  air  to  breathe,  that  his  sharp  eyes  could  discern 
nothing,  and  that  he  was  struck  with  apoplexy.     Fear 


398  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 

of  death  lent  him  strength  to  grope  to  the  door,  which 
opened  on  the  court ;  the  candle  had  burned  out  in  its 
tin  socket.  Having  succeeded  in  opening  the  door,  and 
descending  the  steps  without  falling,  the  farmer  stared 
vacantly  around  him,  without  comprehending  anything 
of  what  he  saw.  An  extraordinary  blaze  of  light  which 
filled  the  court  forced  him  to  cover  his  eyes  with  his 
hand,  for  the  passage  from  darkness  to  this  burning 
glare  gave  him  a  new  vertigo.  At  length,  when  the  air 
had  dissipated  the  fumes  of  wine,  the  species  of  asphyxia 
which  had  overpowered  him  gave  way  to  a  convulsive 
shudder  —  at  first  mechanical  and  merely  physical,  but 
soon  produced  by  inexpressible  terror.  Two  high  jets  of 
fire,  flashing  through  clouds  of  smoke,  rose  from  the  roof 
of  the  barn. 

Bricolin  thought  himself  in  a  bad  dream ;  he  rubbed 
his  eyes,  he  shook  his  whole  body ;  still  these  spires  of 
flame  leaped  towards  the  skies,  and  increased  with  fright- 
ful rapidity.  He  would  have  cried  "Fire!"  but  his 
tongue  clove  to  the  roof  of  his  mouth.  He  tried  to  re- 
turn to  the  house  from  which  he  had  wandered  a  few 
steps,  without  knowing  where  he  went.  He  saw  on  his 
right  torrents  of  flame  pour  from  the  stables,  upon  his 
left  another  jet  of  fire  crowning  the  turrets  of  the  old 
chateau;  and  before  him — before  him  his  own  house, 
illumined  within  by  a  terrible  glare,  and  the  door  which 
he  had  left  open  behind  him  vomiting  black  volumes  of 
smoke,  like  the  mouth  of  a  forge.  All  the  buildings  of 
Blanchemont  were  the  prey  of  a  magnificently-arranged 
conflagration.  They  had  been  set  on  fire  in  more  than 
ten  or  twelve  different  places,  and  what  was  most  omi- 
nous in  the  first  act  of  this  strange  drama  was,  that  the 
silence  of  death  brooded  over  all.  No  one  as  yet  per- 
ceived the  disaster  which  Bricolin,  bereft  of  strength 
and  will,  contemplated  in  fearful  solitude.  All  the  in- 
habitants of  the  new  chateau  and  of  the  farm  had  passed 
from  the  sleep  of  fatigue  or  intoxication  to  the  asphyxia 
produced  by  the  smoke.  The  crackling  of  the  fire  alone 
began  to  be  heard,  and  the  brittle  noise  of  the  falling 
tiles  upon    the  pavement.      Not  a  cry,  not  a  wail,  re- 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT.  299 

sponded  to  these  sinister  monitions.  It  seemed  as  if  the 
conflagration  had  found  no  food  save  deserted  buildings 
or  corpses.  M.  Bricolin  wrung  his  hands,  and  stood 
mute  and  motionless,  as  if  oppressed  with  nightmare,  and 
making  vain  internal  efforts  to  awaken  himself. 

At  last  a  piercing  scream,  a  woman's  scream  was 
heard,  and  Bricolin,  as  though  delivered  from  the  spell 
that  weighed  upon  him,  replied,  by  a  wild  outcry,  to  this 
appeal  of  the  human  voice.  Marcelle  had  been  the  first 
to  perceive  the  danger,  and  now  darted  out,  with  her 
child  in  her  arms.  Without  seeing  Bricolin  or  the  rest 
of  the  fire,  she  placed  the  boy  upon  a  pile  of  hay  in  the 
middle  of  the  court,  and  saying  to  him,  in  a  firm  voice, 
*'  Stay  there,  do  not  be  afraid !  '*  she  hastily  reentered 
the  house,  notwithstanding  the  suffocating  smoke  which 
filled  it,  and  ran  to  the  bed  of  Rose,  who  had  remained 
as  if  paralyzed,  incapable  of  following  her. 

Then,  endowed  by  her  courage  with  the  strength  of  a 
man,  the  slender  little  blonde  took  her  young  friend  in 
her  arms,  and  heroically  carried  a  body,  much  heavier 
and  larger  than  her  own,  to  the  place  where  she  had  left 
her  child. 

Bricolin  had  thought  at  first  of  nothing  but  his  crops 
and  his  cattle,  and  had  run  towards  the  barns  ;  but  at  the 
sight  of  his  daughter,  he  remembered  that  he  had  a  fam- 
ily, and,  sobered  for  the  second  time  that  night,  and 
more  thoroughly  now  than  before,  he  flew  to  the  assist- 
ance of  his  mother  and  wife. 

Happily  the  fire  had  caught  only  the  roofs,  and  the 
lower  story,  inhabited  by  the  Bricolins,  was  still  un- 
touched, with  the  exception  of  Rose's  wing,  which,  being 
very  low,  and  in  the  neighborhood  of  a  heap  of  dry  fag- 
gots, burned  rapidly. 

Mme.  Bricolin,  springing  from  bed,  was  in  instant  pos- 
session of  her  bodily  powers  and  her  presence  of  mind. 
With  the  assistance  of  her  husband  and  Marcelle,  she 
carried  out  her  father-in-law,  who,  imagining  himself  in 
the  hands  of  the  chauffeurs,  cried  with  all  his  might,  "  I 
have  nothing  more  !  Do  not  kill  me  !  Do  not  burn  me  1 
I  will  give  you  everything  ! " 


300  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT, 

Little  Fanchon  resolutely  helped  Mother  Bricoliu,  who 
was  soon  ready  to  help  others.  The  servants  and  work- 
men were  aroused,  and  none  perished ;  but  all  this  took 
considerable  time,  and  when  help  came  from  the  village, 
and  a  line  was  at  length  formed,  it  was  too  late ;  the 
water  seemed  to  increase  the  intensity  of  the  fire,  by  rais- 
ing burning  fragments  and  throwing  them  to  a  distance. 
The  enormous  quantity  of  grain  and  fodder  heaped  in 
the  out-houses,  blazed  with  the  rapidity  of  thought.  The 
ancient  wood-work  of  the  old  buildings  seemed  to  ask 
nothing  better  than  to  burn.  Nearly  all  the  larger 
animals  refused  to  come  out,  and  were  stifled  or  burned. 
Nothing  was  preserved  but  the  body  of  the  new  chateau, 
from  which  the  tiles  fell  off,  and  whose  new  wood-work 
was  left  naked,  charred,  and  raising  its  black  skeleton 
over  the  yet  white  walls  of  the  apartments. 

Fire-engines  in  the  country  are  a  tardy  and  useless  re- 
source, often  ill-contrived  and  ill-managed,  and  when  they 
arrived  on  this  occasion,  their  hose  burst  at  the  first  trial, 
for  want  of  use  or  good  keeping.  The  firemen  and 
villagers,  nevertheless,  succeeded  in  subduing  the  fire, 
and  saving  the  habitation  and  furniture  of  the  Bricolius. 
But  the  loss  of  everything  else  was  immense  and  com- 
plete. The  entire  wing  which  Rose  and  Marcelle  had 
inhabited,  all  the  barns  and  out-houses,  all  the  cattle  and 
all  the  agricultural  implements,  were  destroyed.  The 
roof  of  the  old  chateau  was  still  burning,  but  unheeded, 
because  its  strong,  bare  walls  could  defend  themselves. 
One  only  of  its  towers  was  cracked  from  top  to  bottom 
by  the  heat.  The  others  were  preserved  from  final  ruin 
by  the  huge  ivy  which  clasped  them  round.^ 

The  day  began  to  dawn  as  the  miller  and  Lemor  came 
out  from  the  mendicant's  wretched  cabin.  Lemor  carried 
the  iron  pot,  and  Grand-Louis  held  the  bridle  of  his  dear 
Sophie,  who  had  greeted  his  approach  with  a  friendly 
whinnying.  "I  have  read  Don  Quixote,"  said  he,  *'and 
I  am  now  in  the  condition  of  Sancho  recovering  his  ass. 
A  little  more,  and  I  should  follow  his  example,  embrace 
my  old  Sophie,  and  make  her  a  fine  speech." 


THE  MILLER    OF  ANGIBAULT.  301 

"Grand-Louis,'*  said  Lemor,  "if  you  can  resist  this 
temptation,  do  you  feel  none  to  look  and  see  whether  this 
iron  pot  contains  gold  or  pebbles  ?  " 

"1  did  lift  the  cover,"  said  the  miller;  "something 
shines  inside,  but  I  am  in  great  haste  to  quit  before  day- 
light, before  the  inhabitants,  if  any  there  be  in  this 
desert,  observe  my  motions,  and  take  me  for  a  thief.  I 
tremble  with  emotion  and  pleasure,  like  a  man  who  has 
well  conducted  another's  business  ;  but  I  am  cool,  never- 
theless, as  one  who  inherits  nothing  for  himself.  File 
off,  file  off.  Master  Henri !  Did  you  put  my  pickaxe 
back  into  the  carriage?  Wait  while  I  take  one  more 
look.  The  hole  is  well  filled  up,  nothing  shows  ;  let  us 
be  gone  !  We  will  rest  in  some  wood,  if  our  beasts  are 
too  tired  to  go  on." 

The  notary's  horse  had  been  three  mortal  leagues  on 
the  full  trot,  and  often  galloping  over  rough  and  hilly 
roads,  and  was  indeed  so  tired  on  their  return,  that  when 
our  travellers  arrived  at  the  height  of  Lys-St.-Gcorge, 
they  were  obliged  to  stop  to  breathe  him.  Sophie,  whom 
they  had  fastened  behind  the  cabriolet,  and  who  was  not 
accustomed  to  move  at  so  mad  a  rate,  was  covered  with 
sweat.  The  miller's  heart  was  touched.  '"We  should 
be  merciful  to  the  beasts,"  said  he  ;  "and  then  I  should 
be  sorry  to  have  our  good  notary  lose  a  valuable  horse 
for  his  probity  and  wisdom  in  this  business.  As  to 
Sophie,  no  iron  pot  is  worth  her  ;  this  old  servant  ought 
not  to  play  the  part  of  the  earthen  vessel.  Here  is  a 
pretty  shady  spot,  where  neither  man  nor  beast  are  stir- 
ring. Let  us  stop  here.  I  am  sure  there  is  a  bag  of 
oats  in  the  carriage-box,  for  M.  Tailland  thinks  of  every- 
thing, and  is  not  the  man  to  go  to  sea  without  biscuit. 
We  will  breathe  here  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  and  we 
shall  all  be  the  fresher  to  start  again.  Unluckily,  when 
giving  the  Uey  of  the  fields  to  my  uncle's  pig,  (inherit  him 
who  will !)  I  forgot  to  steal  some  of  his  crusts  of  bread, 
and  my  stomach  feels  so  hollow,  that,  but  for  wronging 
Sophie,  I  would  willingly  share  her  oats.  It  seems  to 
me  that  my  part  as  a  miser's  heir  is  well  begun.  1  am 
starving  beside  my  treasure." 


303 


THE  MILLER    OF  AT^GIBAULT. 


While  chatting  thus  according  to  his  custom,  the  miller 
unbridled  the  horses,  and  gave  them  their  breakfast  — 
the  notary's  in  the  bag  that  held  the  oats,  and  Sophie's  in 
his  own  long  blue  cotton  cap,  which  he  very  facetiously 
tied  round  her  nose. 

''  It  is  odd  how  light  my  heart  feels  now,"  said  he, 
bringing  out  the  iron  pot  from  under  the  bushes.  ''Do 
you  know,  M.  Lemor,  that  my  happiness  lies  in  here, 
within  this  pot,  if  the  gold  is  not  all  on  top,  and  the 
bottom  filled  with  copper?  I  am  afraid  it  is  too  heavy 
to  be  all  gold.     Come  now,  help  me  count  it." 

It  was  soon  counted.  The  pieces  of  old  gold  were 
rolled  up  in  dirty  scraps  of  paper,  in  sums  of  one  thou- 
sand francs  each.  On  opening  them,  Lemor  and  the 
miller  saw  the  marks  of  which  the  mendicant  had  spoken. 
There  was  a  cross  upon  each  louis  of  Father  Bricolin's 
fortune,  while  those  belonging  to  the  deposit  of  the  lord 
of  Blanchemont  bore  a  simple  bar.  At  the  bottom  they 
fouud  about  three  thousand  francs  in  various  silver  coins, 
and  even  a  handful  of  copper,  the  mendicant's  last  col- 
lection. 

'*  This,"  said  the  miller,  throwing  it  back  into  the  pot, 
"  is  my  uncle's  fortune,  your  humble  servant's  inherit- 
ance, the  widow's  mite  which  this  old  dotard  did  not 
scruple  to  collect,  and  which  shall  return  to  the  widow 
and  the  orphan,  I  promise  you.  Who  knows  if  some  of 
this  be  not  the  fruit  of  theft?  Seeing  how  my  uncle 
(peace  to  his  soul !)  filched  Sophie  from  me,  I  am  not 
over  confident  in  the  purity  of  his  bequest.  Ah,  what 
pleasure  I  shall  have  in  giving  alms  —  I,  who  am  so 
often  deprived  of  this  satisfaction !  I  shall  have  a 
princely  pleasure  !  Do  you  know  that  in  this  country 
one  can  save  the  lives  and  secure  the  comfort  of  three 
families  with  three  thousand  francs  ?  " 

"  But  you  forget  the  rest  of  the  deposit,  Grand-Louis. 
Think  that  with  this  large  sum,  of  which  Mme.  de 
Blanchemont  has  surely  no  personal  need,  you  enable 
her  also  to  confer  much  happiness." 

"  Oh  !  trust  her  for  making  it  fly  in  that  direction  ! 
But  there  is  something  besides  that  pleases  me !     Thia 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT.  303 

little  hoard  which  M.  Bricoliu  will  be  so  glad  to  receive 
from  me  !  It  will  not  find  a  very  Christian  use  in  his 
hands,  but  it  will  mend  up  my  affairs,  which  were  nearly 
ruined  last  night." 

"That  is  to  say,  my  dear  Louis,  that  you  can  now 
aspire  to  the  hand  of  Rose  ?  " 

"  Oh,  never  think  it !  If  the  fifty  thousand  francs  be- 
longed to  me,  that  could  be  splendidly  arranged  !  But 
Bricolin  knows  how  to  calculate  better  than  you.  He 
will  say,  '  Here  are  five  hundred  pistoles  of  mine,  which 
Grand-Louis  has  done  only  his  duty  in  bringing  me. 
What  is  mine  is  not  his  ;  so  I  have  fifty  thousand  francs 
the  more  in  my  pocket,  and  he  remains  with  his  mill  as 
before.'  " 

"  And  will  he  not  be  astonished  and  touched  by  an  in- 
tegrity of  which  he  would  doubtless  have  been  incapable  ?  " 

"  Astonished,  yes ;  touched,  no.  But  he  will  say, 
'  This  lad  may  be  useful  to  me.'  Honest  people  are  very 
necessary  to  those  who  are  not  so.  And  he  will  pardon 
me  my  sins,  and  restore  me  his  custom,  of  which  I  think 
a  great  deal,  since  it  enables  me  to  see  Rose,  and  speak 
to  her  every  day.  So  you  see  that  without  deluding  my- 
self, I  have  good  reason  to  be  happy.  I  felt  so  proud 
and  so  happy  yesterday  evening  when  I  was  dancing  with 
Rose,  when  she  seemed  to  love  me  !  Well !  I  recover 
that  happiness,  without  troubling  myself  as  to  the  mor- 
row. That  is  much  :  go  to,  fine  Uncle  Cadoche !  thou 
didst  not  guess  what  consolation  lay  for  me  in  thy  iron 
pot !  Thou  thoughtest  to  make  me  rich,  and  thou  makest 
me  happy !  " 

"  But,  my  dear  Louis,  since  you  take  to  Marcelle  a 
sum  equal  to  that  she  wished  to  sacrifice  for  you,  you 
may  now  accept  the  concessions  that  she  offered  to 
Bricolin?" 

"Me?  Never!  Do  not  speak  of  such  a  thing.  It 
wounds  me.  I  shall  be  no  longer  banished  from  the 
farm,  and  that  is  all  I  want.  See  how  bright  and  hand- 
some this  treasure  is  !  how  much  comfort  for  distress, 
and  ease  for  pain,  lie  in  it !     Money  is  good,  after  all, 


304  I'HE  MILLER    OF  ANGIBAULT. 

M.  Lemor,  confess  it !  Here,  in  the  hollow  of  my  hand, 
are  the  lives  of  five  or  six  poor  children  !" 

"Friend,  I  see  only  what  is  really  there — old  Brics 
olin*s  tears,  and  cries,  and  torture ;  and  the  beggar's 
avarice,  and  stupid,  degraded  life  entirely  consumed  in 
the  trembling  contemplation  of  his  theft !  " 

"  Ugh  !  you  are  right,"  said  the  miller,  shocked,  and 
casting  back  his  handful  of  gold  into  the  iron  pot. 
"  What  crimes,  anxieties,  and  lies,  what  cowardice,  and 
fear,  and  suffering  are  here  !  You  are  right,  money  is  a 
vile  thing ;  and  we  here,  who  are  secretly  looking  at  it, 
and  counting  it,  we  are  like  two  robbers  armed  with 
pistols,  and  in  fear  of  being  surprised  by  other  robbers, 
or  collared  by  the  police.  Out  of  my  sight,  accursed  !  '* 
cried  he,  replacing  the  cover,  "  and  l^t  us  go,  friend  1 
Joy  to  us,  this  is  not  ours  !  " 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT,  305 


CHAPTER    XXXV. 

A   RUPTURE. 

A  S  they  approached  the  valley  of  the  Vauvre,  our  trav- 
•^  ^  ellers  remarked,  in  looking  towards  Blanchemont, 
an  immense  sheet  of  heavy  smoke,  whitened  by  the  rising 
sun. 

"  Look,  now  !  "  said  the  miller  ;  "see  what  a  fog  there 
is  over  the  Vauvre  this  morning,  especially  on  the  side 
where  we  both  always  want  to  look  !  It  troubles  me  ;  I 
do  not  see  the  pointed  roofs  of  my  good  old  little  chateau, 
which,  from  every  side,  as  I  am  riding  about,  serve  as 
guiding-points  to  my  thoughts." 

In  about  ten  minutes  the  smoke,  which  had  been  held 
down  by  the  weight  of  the  morning  mists,  suddenly  broke 
away  at  the  foot  of  the  valley,  and  Grand-Louis,  abruptly 
stopping  the  notary's  horse,  said  to  his  companion  : 

"It  is  singular,  M.  Lemor, —  I  don't  know  whether 
my  eyes  are  blurred  this  morning,  but,  look  my  best,  I 
cannot  see  the  red  roof  of  the  new  building  below  the  tur- 
rets of  the  old  chateau !  Yet  I  am  very  sure  it  can  be 
seen  from  here  ;  I  have  stopped  here  moie  than  an  hun- 
dred times,  and  I  distinguish  the  trees  arouud  it.  Ah, 
but  look  !  the  old  chateau  is  all  changed  !  The  turrets 
look  lower  to  me.  Where  the  devil  is  the  roof  ?  Thun- 
der crush  me  !  there  is  nothing  left  but  the  gables  !  Stay, 
stay  !  What  is  that  red  spot  beside  the  farm-house  ?  It  is 
fire  !  yes,  fire  !  and  all  those  black  things? — M.  Lemor, 
you  know  I  told  you,  when  we  were  at  Jeu-les-bois,  that 
the  sky  was  reddened,  and  that  there  was  a  fire  some- 
where. You  persisted  that  it  was  the  burning  of  pas- 
tures, but  I  knew  there  was  no  furze  in  that  direction. 
Look  !  I  am  not  dreaming  !  the  chateau,  the  farm,  all  ia 
burned!— But  Rose!  Rose!— Ah,  my  God!  And 
20 


3o6  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 

Madame  Marcelle !  and  my  little  Edward !  and  Mother 
Bricolin  I  my  God  !  my  God  !  " 

And  the  miller,  whipping  his  horse  furiously,  galloped 
on  towards  Blanchemont,  without  stopping  to  think 
whether  his  old  Sophie  could  follow  or  not. 

As  they  approached,  the  signs  of  the  disaster  became 
only  too  certain.  Soon  they  heard  of  it  from  those  they 
met  on  the  road,  and  although  they  were  assured  that  no 
one  had  perished,  both,  pale  and  agitated,  urged  to  the  ut- 
most their  horse,  who  seemed  to  them  to  creep. 

When  they  reached  the  foot  of  the  terrace,  as  the 
poor  animal,  panting,  and  covered  with  foam,  could  only 
walk  up  the  ascent,  they  stopped  before  Pauline's,  and 
sprang  from  the  cabriolet  to  run  faster.  At  this  moment 
Marcelle  appeared  before  their  eyes,  at  the  door  of  the 
cabin.  She  was  pale,  but  calm,  and  there  were  no  ves- 
tiges of  fire  on  her  garments,  for  she  had  been  occupied 
through  the  night  in  attending  upon  others,  without  use- 
lessly endeavoring  to  extinguish  the  flames.  Lemor  was 
near  fainting  with  joy  at  seeing  her ;  he  took  her  hand 
without  the  power  of  speech. 

"  My  boy  is  here,  and  Rose  is  at  the  curate's,"  said 
Marcelle.  "  She  has  met  with  no  accident,  she  is  scarcely 
ill,  she  is  happy  in  spite  of  her  parents'  consternation. 
Nothing  is  lost  in  all  this  but  money.  It  is  a  slight  thing 
compared  to  the  joy  that  awaits  her  — " 

"What?  how?"  said  the  miller;  "I  do  not  under- 
stand." 

'"•  Go  and  see  her,  my  friend,  nothing  prevents  you, 
and  learn  from  herself  what  I  will  not  be  the  first  to 
tell  you." 

Grand-Louis  remained  a  moment  stupefied,  then  ran. 
Lemor  entered  the  cabin  with  Marcelle,  and  while  Paul- 
ine and  her  husband  looked  to  the  horses,  he  went  to  the 
bed  where  Edward  was  sleeping.  The  last  of  the 
Blanchemonts  was  sweetly  reposing  upon  the  pallet  of 
the  poorest  peasant  of  his  domains.  He  possessed  not 
even  a  shelter,  and  the  hospitality  of  indigence  was  all  he 
could  now  claim. 

"Then  he  ran  no  danger?"  said  Lemor,  kissing  his 
little  hands,  moist  with  gentle  warmth. 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT.  307 

"  This  little  creature  has  good  stamina,"  said  Marcelle, 
with  some  pride.  "  He  has  not  been  ill,  he  woie  in  the 
midst  of  suffocating  smoke,  and  was  not  afraid.  He  has 
passed  the  night  with  me,  helping  and  comforting  others ; 
and,  notwithstanding  his  weakness  and  ignorance  of  mis- 
fortune, his  cares,  his  caresses,  and  simple  words,  have 
been  like  an  angel's  to  me,  and  to  all  the  timorous  souls 
who  were  trembling  and  crying  around  us.  And  I 
dreaded  emotion  and  fright,  for  his  health !  An  heroic 
spirit  animates  this  delicate  frame.  Lemor !  he  is  a 
blessed  child,  whom  God  marked,  at  his  birth,  for  noble 
poverty !  " 

The  child  awoke  at  Lemor's  caresses,  and  recognizing 
him  this  time  more  by  his  tenderness  than  his  features, — 

"  Ah,  Henri !  "  said  he,  "  why  wouldst  thou  not  speak 
to  me  when  thou  madest  believe  Antoine  ?  " 

Marcelle  was  beginning,  with  quiet  fortitude,  to  ex- 
plain to  her  lover  the  new  catastrophe  in  which  the  fire 
had  involved  the  remainder  of  her  fortune,  when  M. 
Bricolin,  his  face  convulsed,  his  clothes  in  rags,  and  his 
hands  severely  burned,  rushed  into  the  cabin. 

On  recovering  from  his  first  terror,  the  farmer  had 
worked,  with  desperate  energy  and  courage,  to  save  his 
cattle  and  his  crops.  An  hundred  times  he  had  nearly 
been  a  victim  to  his  frantic  eagerness  ;  and  he  had  aban- 
doned his  vain  hopes  only  on  finding  himself  in  the  midst 
of  a  heap  of  ashes.  Then  discouragement,  despair,  and 
a  sort  of  fury  seized  upon  his  feeble  brain.  He  was 
almost  raving  ;  and  rushed  distractedly  towards  Marcelle, 
with  confused  ideas  and  embarrassed  words. 

"Ah,  here  you  are  at  last,  madam!"  said  he,  in  a 
broken  voice.  "  I  have  been  looking  for  you  through  all 
the  village,  and  I  did  not  know  what  had  become  of  you. 
Hark  you,  Mme.  Marcelle  !  —  I  have  something  very 
important  to  say  to  you  —  you  may  look  calm,  but  all 
this  misfortune  falls  upon  you  ;  all  this  damage  is  at  your 
cost ! " 

''I  know  it,  M.  Bricolin!"  answered  Marcelle,  with 
some  impatience  ;  for  the  sight  of  this  avaricious  man 
was  not  consoling  to  her  just  now. 

"You  know  it?"  replied  Bricolin,  in  a  sort  of  rage, 


3o8  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 

"and  I  know  it,  too  !  It  is  your  business  to  rebuild  the 
houses  and  replace  the  stock  at  Blanchemont." 

"And  with  what,  if  you  please,  M.  Bricolin?" 

"With  your  money!  Have  you  not  money?  Did  I 
not  give  you  enough  ?  " 

"I  have  none  now,  M.  Bricolin.  The  pocket-book 
was  burned." 

"You  let  my  pocket-book  burn?  the  pocket-book 
that  I  intrusted  to  you?"  cried  Bricolin,  exasperated, 
and  striking  his  forehead  with  his  fists.  "How  could 
you  be  so  silly,  so  stupid,  as  not  to  save  the  pocket-book, 
since  you  had  plenty  of  time  to  save  your  son  ?  " 

"I  saved  Rose,  too,  M.  Bricolin.  I  carried  her  out 
of  the  house  in  my  own  arms.  Meanwhile,  the  pocket- 
book  was  burned.     I  am  not  sorry  for  it." 

"It  is  not  true  —you  have  it ! " 

"  I  swear  to  you  solemnly  that  I  have  not.  The  sec- 
retary where  it  was,  all  the  furniture  of  that  chamber, 
was  burned  while  the  people  were  being  saved.  You 
know  this  very  well ;  I  have  told  you  before,  for  you 
asked  me  about  it ;  but  you  did  not  hear  me,  or  you  do 
not  remember." 

"Ah,  yes,  I  remember,"  said  the  dismayed  farmer, 
"but  I  thought  you  were  deceiving  me." 

"  And  why  should  I  deceive  you  ?  Was  not  the  money 
mine .'' " 

"Yours?  Then  you  do  not  deny  that  I  bought  your 
estate  from  you  yesterday  evening,  that  I  paid  you  for  it, 
and  that  it  belongs  to  me  }  " 

"What  should  make  you  think  that  I  was  capable  of 
denying  it  ?  " 

"Ah!  pardon  me,  pardon  me,  madam!  I  have  not 
my  right  head  !  "  said  the  farmer,  subdued  and  calmed. 

"So  I  see,"  said  Marcelle,  in  a  contemptuous  tone,  to 
which  he  paid  no  attention. 

"It  is  all  the  same,  the  repairs  of  the  buildings  and 
the  stock  are  at  your  cost,"  resumed  he,  after  a  short 
silence,  in  which  his  ideas  became  confused  anew. 

"  One  of  two  things,  M.  Bricolin,"  said  Marcelle, 
shrugging  her  shoulders.     "Either  you  have  not  bought 


THE   MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT.  309 

the  estate,  and  it  is  my  business  to  repair  the  damage,  or 
I  have  sold  it  to  you,  and  have  nothing  to  do  with  it ; 
choose ! " 

"True!"  said  Bricolin,  again  sinking  into  a  new 
stupor.  Then  he  resumed  quickly,  "Oh,  yes!  I  have 
fairly  and  fully  bought  and  paid ;  you  cannot  deny  that. 
I  have  your  deed  and  receipt,  which  I  took  good  care  to 
save  !     My  wife  has  it  in  her  pocket." 

"Then  you  are  easy,  and  I  too  ;  for  I  have  also  the 
duplicate  copy  of  our  deed  in  my  pocket." 

"  But  you  ought  to  pay  for  the  damage  !"  cried  Bric- 
olin, with  dull  fury  ;  "I  did  not  buy  your  estate  without 
buildings  and  stock.  The  loss  is  at  least  fifty  thousand 
francs  !  " 

"I  know  nothing  of  that,  but  the  disaster  took  place 
after  the  sale." 

"  It  was  you  who  set  fire  to  it ! " 

"Very  probably!"  said  Marcelle,  with  cool  disdain, 
"  and  I  threw  in  the  price  of  my  estate  to  amuse 
myself!" 

" Pardon,  pardon  me,  I  am  ill ! "  said  the  farmer  ;  "to 
lose  so  much  money  in  one  night! — But  it  is  all  one, 
Mme.  Marcelle,  you  owe  me  an  indemnity  for  my  mis- 
fortune. I  have  always  had  misfortune  with  your  family. 
My  father  was  tortured  by  the  chauffeurs,  and  robbed  of 
fifty  thousand  francs  of  his  own,  for  a  deposit  which 
your  grandfather  left  in  his  charge." 

"The  consequences  of  that  misfortune  are  irreparable, 
since  your  father  lost  his  health,  both  of  mind  and  body, 
by  it.  But  my  family  is  perfectly  innocent  of  the  crime 
of  tlie  robbers,  and  as  to  the  loss  of  your  money,  it  was 
largely  made  up  by  my  grandfather." 

"True,  he  was  an  excellent  master!  You  should  do 
the  same  ;  you  ought  to  compensate  me  ! " 

"  You  think  so  much  of  money,  and  I  so  little,  M. 
Bricolin,  that  I  would  satisfy  you  if  I  were  able.  But 
you  forget  that  I  have  lost  everything,  even  to  the  pitiful 
sum  of  two  thousand  francs  which  I  received  from  the 
sale  of  my  carriage,  and  my  very  clothes.  My  boy  can- 
not even  say  at  this  moment  that  he  owns  so  much  in  the 
world  as  the  garments  which  cover  him,  for  I  carried 


3IO  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 

him  naked  from  your  house ;  and  if  this  woman  whom 
you  see  had  not  taken  him  in  with  holy  charity,  and 
clothed  him  with  tlie  poor  garments  of  one  of  her  own 
children,  I  should  be  forced  to  beg  from  you  a  blouse  and 
a  pair  of  wooden  shoes  for  him.  Leave  rae  then  quiet, 
I  beseech  you  ;  I  have  strength  to  bear  my  own  mis- 
fortunes, but  your  rapacity  disgusts  and  wearies  me.'* 

"Enough,  sir !  "  said  Lemor,  who  could  no  longer  re- 
strain himself.     "Go  —  leave  this  lady  in  peace  !" 

Bricolin  did  not  hear  this  apostrophe.     He  had  sunk 
upon  a  chair,  only  so  far  alive  to  Marcelle's  utter  destitu- 
tion as  it  deprived  him  of  all  hope  of  extorting  anything 
from  her.     "So,"  criad.he  despairingly,  striking  his  fists 
upon  the  table,  4 1  thought  I  had  made  a  good  bargain  last 
night  ;}I  had  bought  Blancliemont  for  two  hundred  and 
fifty  thousand  francs  ;  and  now  this  morning  I  have  lost   J 
fifty  thousand   francs,    in  buildings   and    cattle !      That  j'"  ' 
makes    the   estate,"    said   he,  sobbing,  "cost   me  three (^^ 
hundred  thousand  francs,  as  yrfll  wnnld  havfl  hnd  it!"  ] 

"  It  does  not  seem  to  rae  to  be  my  fault,  or  that  I 
profit  by  it,"  coldly  answered  Marcelle,  whose  indigna- 
tion fell  on  seeing  Lemor's,  and  who  controlled  herself  to 
oblige  him  to  be  culm. 

"And  that  is  all  your  misfortune,  M.  Bricolin?" 
simply  asked  Pauline,  astonished  at  all  that  she  had 
heard.  "  Truly,  I  should  think  myself  well  off!  This 
poor  lady  has  lost  everything ;  you  are  still  rich,  as  rich 
as  you  were  yesterday  evening,  and  you  ask  something 
of  her  ?  That  is  queer  enough  !  If  Blanchemont  costs 
you,  fire  and  all,  only  three  hundred  thousand  francs,  it 
is  still  mighty  cheap.  I  know  many  who  would  have 
given  more." 

"Pray  what  are  you  talking  about?"  replied  Bricolin. 
"  Hold  your  tongue  !  you  are  but  a  fool  and  a  gossip." 

"  Thanks,  sir !  "  said  Pauline  ;  and  turning  proudly 
to  Marcelle — "it  is  all  the  same,  madam,"  she  said; 
"  since  you  have  lost  all,  you  may  stay  with  me  as  long 
as  you  wish,  and  share  my  black  bread.  I  will  not  re- 
proach you,  and  will  never  send  you  away." 

"  Listen,  sir  !  "  said  Lemor,  "  and  blush  !" 

"  You  —  I  don't  know  who  you  are  ! "  returned  Brie- 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT.  xn 

olin^  in  a  rage.  "  Nobody  here  knows  you  ;  you  look 
as  much  like  a  miller  as  I  like  a  bishop.  But  you  shall 
not  go  far,  my  lad !  I  will  send  the  police  to  demand 
your  papers,  and  if  you  have  none,  we  shall  see  !  This 
fire  was  plainly  kindled  on  purpose,  everybody  will  swear 
to  that,  and  the  king's  attorney  is  here  to  make  out  a 
warrant.  You  are  friends  with  a  man  who  owes  me  a 
grudge,  and  that's  enough  !  " 

"  Ah  !  this  is  too  much  !  "  said  the  indignant  Lemor ; 
"  you  are  the  meanest  of  wretches,  and  if  you  do  not 
leave  this  place  instantly,  I  will  find  means  to  make 
you." 

"  Stay  !  "  said  Marcelle,  seizing  Lemor's  arm.  "  Have 
pity  on  this  man,  he  has  lost  his  senses !  Be  indulgent 
to  misfortune,  however  base  it  show  itself;  follow  my 
example,  Lemor  ;  my  patience  is  equal  to  my  situation." 

Bricolin  did  not  hear.  He  held  his  head  between  his 
hands,  and  groaned  like  a  mother  who  has  lost  her  child. 

'••And  I  who  would  never  insure,  because  it  was  too 
dear,"  cried  he,  ia  a  lamentable  whine  ;  "  and  my  oxen, 
my  poor  oxen,  who  were  so  fat  and  handsome  !  A  lot 
of  sheep  worth  two  thousand  francs,  that  I  would  not  sell 
at  the  fair  of  St.  Christopher  !  " 

Marcelle  could  not  restrain  a  smile,  and  her  lofty  good 
sense  controlled  Lemor's  indignation. 

"At  any  rate,"  said  the  farmer,  suddenly  rising, 
"your  miller  shall  not  have  my  daughter !  " 

"  In  that  case,  you  shall  not  have  my  estate.  The 
deed  is  clear,  and  the  condition  positive." 

"  We  will  go  to  law  ! " 

"  As  you  please." 

"  Oh,  you  cannot  go  to  law !  That  needs  money,  and 
you  have  none.  And  then  you  would  have  to  restore 
me  the  payment,  and  how  would  you  do  that  ?  Besides, 
your  fine  condition  is  null ;  and  as  for  the  miller,  I  am 
going  to  begin  by  having  him  arrested  and  put  in  prison  ; 
for  I  am  sure  it  is  he  who  set  fire  to  my  house,  out  of 
revenge  for  my  treatment  of  him  yesterday.  All  the 
village  will  testify  to  how  he  threatened  me  —  and  this 
gentleman  here  —  enough!  Help!  help!  the  police!*' 
and  he  rushed  out  in  absolute  frenzy. 


312  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT, 


CHAPTER    XXXVI. 

THE    CHAPEL. 

A  NXIOUS  for  the  miller  and  for  Lemor,  who  might 
-^^^^  be  disagreeably,  if  not  dangerously,  involved  by  the 
consequences  of  Bricolin's  blind  revenge,  Marcelle  in- 
duced her  lover  to  conceal  himself,  and  Pauline  was  just 
going  to  warn  Grand-Louis  to  do  the  same,  when  sud- 
denly all  the  people  on  the  terrace,  who  were  standing  in 
groups  and  talking  over  the  late  disaster,  were  seen  to  re 
assemble  and  run  towards  the  farm. 

"  I  am  sure  they  have  done  it  already  ! "  cried  Pauline, 
weeping.  "  They  have  laid  hands  already  on  poor 
Grand-Louis  ! " 

Lemor,  hearkening  only  to  his  friendship  and  courage, 
left  the  hut  and  flew  towards  the  terrace.  Marcelle, 
frightened,  followed  him,  leaving  Edward  to  the  care  of 
her  hostess's  eldest  daughter. 

When  they  entered  the  court  of  the  farm,  Marcelle 
and  Lemor  were  shocked  at  the  sight  of  the  tottering 
piles  of  blackened  ruins,  the  ground  soaked  with  water, 
which  looked  like  ink,  and  the  crowd  of  weary,  wet, 
burnt,  and  spectre-like  laborers,  who  were  even  now  pre- 
paring for  new  fatigue.  The  fire  had  just  broken  out 
afresh  in  a  little  isolated  chapel,  situated  between  the 
farm-house  and  the  old  chateau. 

This  new  accident  seemed  incomprehensible ;  for  this 
building  had  remained  untouched  till  now,  and  if  a  spark 
had  fallen  upon  it  during  the  conflagration,  the  fire  would 
not  have  smouldered  so  long  among  the  dried  peas  con- 
tained there.  Yet  the  flames  broke  from  the  interior, 
as  if  an  implacable  hand  had  carried  its  daring  so  far  as 
to  strive  before  all  eyes,  and  in  broad  day,  to  destroy  the 
last  building  on  the  estate. 


THE  MILLER    OF  ANGIBAULT.  313 

*'  Let  the  chapel  burn ! "  cried  M.  Bricolin,  foaming 
with  rage;  "run  after  the  incendiary!  He  must  be 
there,  he  cannot  be  far.  It  is  Grand-Louis,  I  am  sure  ! 
I  have  proof!  Look  in  the  warren!  Surround  the 
warren  !  '* 

M.  Bricolin  was  little  aware  that  while  he  was  thus 
directing  public  feeling  against  the  miller,  the  latter,  for- 
getful and  careless  of  what  was  passing  without,  was  at 
the  curate's,  kneeling  beside  the  large  chair  in  which 
Rose  had  been  placed,  and  receiving  from  her  lips  the 
confession  of  her  love,  and  the  news  of  the  engagement 
entered  into  by  her  father.  In  the  general  confusion, 
the  curate,  and  even  his  housekeeper,  had  mingled  with 
the  busy  laborers  ;  her  grandmother  alone  remained  with 
Rose ;  and  the  young  lovers,  lost  in  the  purest  rapture, 
had  entirely  forgotten  the  agitating  events  taking  place 
around  them. 

A  circle  was  formed  about  the  chapel,  and  the  engines 
were  directed  towards  it,  when  M.  Bricolin,  who  had 
advanced  to  the  door,  shrunk  back  horrified,  and  fell 
against  one  of  his  farm-boys,  who  could  scarcely  support 
him.  This  chapel,  which  had  formerly  been  attached  to 
the  old  chateau,  still,  to  an  antiquarian  eye,  possessed 
beautiful  remains  of  G-othic  carving.  But  so  old  an  edi- 
fice could  not  long  sustain  the  intensity  of  the  heat. 
The  flames  burst  through  the  windows,  and  their  delicate 
ornaments  were  beginning  to  crack  off,  when  the  half- 
open  door  was  abruptly  pushed  from  within,  and  the  ma- 
niac came  out,  a  small  lantern  in  one  hand,  and  a  wisp 
of  burning  straw  in  the  other.  She  was  slowly  retiring, 
after  having  given  the  finishing  touch  to  her  work  of  de- 
struction ;  she  walked  gravely  on,  her  eyes  bent  on  the 
ground,  seeing  no  one,  and  entirely  occupied  with  the 
enjoyment  of  her  long-contemplated  and  coolly-executed 
vengeance. 

An  over-conscientious  policeman  went  straight  up  to 
her,  and  stopped  her  by  taking  hold  of  her  arm.  Then 
first  perceiving  the  crowd  who  surrounded  her,  she  thrust 
her  blazing  straw  into  the  face  of  the  officer,  who,  sur- 
prised at  this  unexpected  defence,  was  forced  to  let  her 


314 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 


go.  Instantly  recovering  her  impetuous  agility,  with  a 
look  of  hatred  and  fury,  and  uttering  confused  impreca- 
tions, she  darted  into  the  chapel,  as  if  to  hide  herself. 
Several  attempted,  but  no  one  dared  to  follow  her.  She 
crossed  the  flames  with  the  ease  of  a  salamander,  and 
climbed  the  little  spiral  staircase  which  led  to  the  roof. 
There  she  appeared  at  a  skylight,  and  was  seen  to  urge 
on  the  fire,  which  gained  too  slowly  to  satisfy  her,  and 
which  soon  surrounded  her  on  every  side.  They  tried  in 
vain  to  wet  the  roof  with  the  engines.  It  had  been 
lately  repaired,  and  covered  with  zinc.  The  water  ran 
off,  and  scarcely  penetrated  at  all.  Thus  the  fire  con- 
sumed the  interior,  and  the  unfortunate  Bricoline,  slowly 
burning,  must  have  endured  extreme  torture.  But  she 
appeared  not  to  feel  it,  and  was  heard  singing  a  dancing 
tune,  which  she  had  loved  in  her  youth,  to  which  she  had 
doubtless  often  danced  with  her  lover,  and  which  re- 
curred to  her  memory  at  the  moment  of  death.  Not  a 
groan  was  heard  from  her  ;  deaf  to  the  cries  and  suppli- 
cations of  her  mother,  who  wrung  her  hands,  and  was 
only  withheld  by  force  from  rushing  to  her,  she  sang  for 
a  long  time ;  then  appearing  at  the  window  once  more, 
she  recognized  her  father. 

"Aha,  M.  Bricolin!'*  cried  she  to  him,  "i/«ese  <Z«?/s 
of  ours  are  fine  times  for  you  ! " 

These  were  her  last  words.  When  the  fire  was  sub- 
dued, her  whitened  bones  were  found  on  the  pavement  of 
the  chapel. 

This  fearful  death  completely  distracted  Bricolin,  and 
destroyed  the  courage  of  his  wife.  They  thought  no 
longer  of  arresting  any  one,  and  during  the  entire  day 
they  were  wholly  forgetful  of  Rose,  Mother  Bricolin,  and 
her  old  husband.  Shut  up  at  the  curate's,  M.  and  Mme. 
Bricolin  would  see  no  one,  and  emerged  only  when  they 
had  exhausted  together  all  the  bitterness  of  their  grief. 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT,  313 


CHAPTER    XXXVII. 

CONCLUSION. 

IVyTARCELLE  had  enough  presence  of  mind  to  foresee 
^^  that  it  would  be  dangerous  for  Rose,  ill  and  shaken 
by  so  many  emotions,  to  hear  of  the  deplorable  end  of 
her  sister.  She  suggested  to  the  miller  to  put  her  imme- 
diately into  the  notary's  cabriolet,  and  take  her  to  his 
mill,  with  her  grandmother  and  the  infirm  old  man,  from 
whom  the  good  woman  would  not  be  separated.  She 
herself,  leaning  upon  Lemor,  who  carried  Edwiird  in  his 
arms,  followed  them  at  a  little  distance. 

For  several  days  Rose  had  a  return  of  fever  every 
evening.  Her  friends  did  not  leave  her  for  an  instant. 
They  concealed  from  her  the  funeral  of  the  beggar 
Cadoche,  who  was  buried  with  all  the  ceremony  he  de- 
sired, and  they  left  her  in  ignorance  of  the  death  of  the 
maniac  till  she  was  able  to  endure  the  intelligence ;  but 
it  was  long  before  she  knew  all  the  shocking  circum- 
stances attending  it. 

Marcelle  consulted  M.  Tailland  upon  the  value  of  the 
deed  drawn  up  with  Bricolin. 

The  notary's  opinion  was  not  favorable.  Marriage, 
being  a  matter  of  public  institution,  could  not  be  made  a 
clause  in  a  deed  of  sale.  In  the  case  of  illegal  clauses, 
the  sale  remains  good,  and  the  said  clauses  are  reputed 
unwritten.  Such  are  the  terras  of  the  law.  M.  Bricolin 
knew  them  before  the  signature  of  the  deed. 

At  the  end  of  three  days  the  farmer  appeared  at  the 
mill,  pale,  haggard,  having  lost  half  his  flesh,  and  even 
the  desire  to  drink  himself  into  better  spirits.  He  seemed 
incapable  of  anger ;  still,  as  they  did  not  know  what  his 
intentions  might  be  in  coming  to  Angibault,  and  as  Rose 


3i6  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT, 

was  yet  very  weak,  Marcelle  trembled  lest  he  should  re- 
call her  with  abusive  words  or  manners.  Everybody 
was  uneasy,  and  they  all  went  out  to  meet  him,  so  as  to 
prevent  his  entrance  unless  he  announced  pacific  inten- 
tions. 

He  began  by  coldly  intimating  to  his  mother  that  she 
was  to  bring  his  daughter  home  immediately.  He  had 
hired  a  house  in  the  village  of  Blanchemont,  and  was 
about  to  commence  the  work  of  rebuilding.  "  But  my 
being  ill  lodged,"  said  he,  "  is  no  reason  for  my  being  de- 
prived of  the  society  of  my  daughter,  nor  for  her  re- 
fusing her  services  to  her  mother.  Only  an  unnatural 
child  would  do  so."  So  speaking,  Bricolin  cast  surly 
looks  on  the  miller.  It  was  plain  that  he  wished  to 
withdraw  his  daughter  quietly  from  his  house,  feeling 
that  he  could  afterwards  give  vent  to  his  rancor,  and 
accuse  Grand-Louis,  at  need,  of  having  carried  her  off. 

''  That  is  right,  that  is  right,"  said  Mother  Bricolin, 
who  had  undertaken  to  reply.  "Rose  has  several  limes 
asked  to  return  to  her  father  and  mother,  but  as  she  is 
yet  ill,  we  have  prevented  her.  I  think  she  may  be  well 
enough  to-day  to  go  with  thee,  and  I  am  ready  to  accom- 
pany her  with  my  old  man,  if  thou  hast  a  place  for  us. 
Only  give  Mme.  Marcelle  time  to  prepare  the  child  for 
the  surprise  and  pleasure  of  seeing  thee,  and  do  thou 
come  to  my  chamber,  Bricolin  ;  I  have  something  to  say 
to  thee  in  private." 

The  old  woman  led  him  to  the  room  which  she  shared 
with  the  mill-dame.  Marcelle  and  Rose  had  been  in- 
stalled in  the  miller's.  Lemor  and  Grand-Louis  slept, 
rejoicingly,  in  the  hay-loft. 

"Bricolin,"  said  the  good  woman,  "thou  wilt  have 
great  expense  with  these  repairs.  Where  wilt  thou  get 
the  money  ?  " 

"What  is  that  to  you,  mother?  you  have  none  to  give 
me,"  answered  Bricolin,  roughly  ;  "  I  am  short,  just  now, 
it  is  true,  but  I  shall  borrow.  I  shall  have  no  trouble  in 
finding  credit." 

"Yes,  but  with  heavy  interest,  as  is  the  custom,  and 
then  when  you  come  to  repay,  you  are  already  involved 


THE  MILLER    OF  ANGIBAULT.  317 

in  new  expenses  that  are  necessary  and  unavoidable. 
That  is  a  constraint  and  an  incumbrance,  and  one  never 
knows  how  to  get  away  from  it." 

"  Well,  what  would  you  have  me  do?  Can  I  stow  my 
next  year's  harvest  in  my  shoe,  and  shelter  my  cattle  uu- 
der  a  broom  ?  " 

"  What  will  all  that  cost?'* 

"  The  Lord  knows  !  " 

"But  about  —  ?" 

"  From  forty-five  to  fifty  thousand  francs,  at  the  least ; 
fifteen  to.  eighteen  thousand  for  tlie  buildings,  as  much 
for  the  stock,  and  as  much  for  what  I  lose  of  my  crops 
and  of  the  year's  profits  ! " 

"  Yes,  that  makes  about  50,000  francs.  That  was 
just  my  estimate.  Well !  Say,  Bricolin,  if  I  gave  thee 
that  sum,  what  wouldst  thou  do  for  me?" 

''You?"  cried  Bricolin,  his  eyes  recovering  their  ac- 
customed fire ;  "  have  you,  then,  savings  unbeknown  to 
me,  or  are  you  doting?  " 

"  I  am  not  doting.  I  have  50,000  francs  in  gold, 
which  I  will  give  thee,  if  thou  wilt  let  me  marry  Rose  as 
I  like." 

"  Ah  !  here  it  is  !  always  the  miller  !  All  the  women 
are  crazy  after  that  bear  ;  even  old  souls  of  eighty." 

''  Good,  very  good  !     Jest,  but  accept." 

"  And  where  is  this  money?" 

"  I  have  given  it  to  Grand-Louis  to  keep,"  said  the  old 
woman,  who  knew,  that  if  her  son  saw  it,  he  was  capable 
of  forcibly  snatching  it  from  her  hands  in  his  ecstacy. 

"  And  why  to  Grand-Louis,  and  not  to  me  or  my  wife? 
Then  you  mean  to  make  him  a  gift  of  it,  if  I  do  not  act 
according  to  your  will  ?  " 

'*  The  money  of  others  is  safe  in  his  hands,"  said  the 
old  woman,  "  for  he  had  this  without  my  knowledge,  and 
brought  it  to  me  when  I  thought  it  lost  forever.  It  is  my 
husband's,  you  understand  ;  but  since  you  have  had  him 
set  aside  in  law,  and  we  have  sunk  our  property  for  the 
benefit  of  the  survivor,  it  is  at  my  disposal." 

"But  this  is  a  recovery,  then  ?     Lnpossible !  you  are 


3i8  THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 

making  a  fool  of  me,  and  it  is  too  good  in  me  to  listen  to 
you ! " 

"  Listen  !  "  said  his  mother  ;  "  it  is  a  queer  story." 

And  she  told  her  son  all  the  story  of  Cadoche  and  his 
legacy. 

''  And  the  miller  brought  you  back  this  money,  when 
he  might  have  said  nothing  about  it?"  cried  the  farmer, 
quite  confounded.  "  Really,  that  was  very  honest,  yes, 
really  very  handsome^  on  his  part !  He  must  have  a 
present.*' 

"  There  is  but  one  present  to  make  him  :  Rose*s  hand, 
since  she  has  already  gifted  him  with  her  heart." 

"  But  I  will  give  no  dowry !  "  cried  Bricolin. 

"That  is  understood  :  who  asked  thee  for  it?" 

*'  Show  me  this  money  !  " 

Mother  Bricolin  took  her  son  to  the  miller,  who  showed 
him  the  iron  pot  and  its  contents. 

"  And  by  this  means,"  said  the  farmer,  dazzled,  and  as 
it  were  resuscitated,  by  the  sight  of  so  much  coined  gold, 
"  Mme.  de  Blanchemont  is  not  absolutely  destitute  ?  " 

"Thanks  to  God!" 

"  And  to  thee,  Grand-Louis  !  " 

"  Thanks  to  Father  Cadoche's  whim." 

"  And  thoji,  what  dost  thou  inherit?  " 

"  Three  thousand  francs,  of  which  a  third  is  destined 
to  Pauline,  and  the  rest  to  the  establishment  of  two  other 
families  near  me.  [We  will  all  work  together,  and  re- 
ceive the  profits  in  common."] 

"  That  is  stupid  !  "         "^ 

"  No,  it  is  useful  and  just." 

"  But  why  not  keep  these  thousand  crowns  for  wedding 
presents  for  —  thy  wife  ?  " 

"  They  would  smell  of  stolen  money  ;  and  even  if  it  were 
only  the  produce  of  charity,  would  you,  who  are  so  proud, 
like  to  have  Rose  wear  dresses  that  were  paid  for  with 
copper  coins,  given  as  alms  to  a  beggar?  " 

"  There  would  be  no  need  of  telling  where  they  came 
from !  Well,  then,  when  shall  the  wedding  be,  Grand- 
Louis?" 

"  To-morrow,  if  you  will.'* 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 


3^9 


'*  Let  the  banns  be  published  to-morrow,  and  give  me 
the  money  to-day  ;  I  have  a  use  for  it." 

"  No,  no  !  no,  no  !  "  cried  his  mother.  "  Thou  shalt 
have  it  on  the  wedding-day.  Fair  play,  fair  play,  my 
boy ! " 

The  sight  of  the  gold  had  revived  M.  Bricolin.  He 
sat  down  to  table,  drank  with  the  miller,  embraced  his 
daughter,  and,  when  about  half-seas  over,  remounted  his 
nag,  to  go  and  set  his  masons  to  work. 

"  In  this  way,"  said  he  to  himself,  "  I  still  have 
Blanchemont  for  250,000  francs,  and  even  for  200,000, 
since  I  give  no  dowry  with  my  last  daughter  I  " 

"  We  too,  Lemor,  we  must  build,"  said  Marcelle  to  her 
lover,  when  Bricolin  had  gone.  "  We  are  rich  ;  we  have 
enough  to  raise  a  pretty,  rustic  cottage,  where  our  child 
shall  have  a  good  education  ;  for  thou  wilt  be  his  precep- 
tor, and  the  miller  will  teach  him  his  trade.  Why  should 
he  not  be  at  once  an  active  workman  and  an  educated 
man?" 

''  And  I  depend  upon  beginning  with  myself,"  said 
Lemor.  "  I  am  very  ignorant ;  I  must  study  evenings. 
I  am  mill-boy  —  I  like  to  be  mill-boy  —  and  I  will  be 
that  in  the  day-time.  What  fine  health  this  life  will  give 
our  Edward !  " 

"  Well,  Mme.  Marcelle,"  said  Grand-Louis,  taking 
Lemor's  hand,  "  you  who  told  me,  the  first  time  you  came 
here  —  eight  days  ago,  nor  more  nor  less  —  that  your 
happiness  would  consist  in  having  a  little  house,  neat  and 
clean,  with  a  thatched  roof,  and  climbing  vines  like  mine, 
a  simple,  easy  life  like  mine,  a  son,  who  should  be  busy 
and  not  over-dull,  like  me! — And  all  this  here,  upon 
our  river  Vauvre,  which  has  the  honor  to  please  you,  and 
beside  us,  who  are  good  neighbors  !  " 

"And  all  this  in  common,"  said  Marcelle,  "for  I 
take  it  no  otherwise  !  " 

"  Oh !  impossible !  your  part,  at  present,  is  much 
greater  than  mine." 

"You  calculate  ill,  miller,"  said  Lemor;  "thine  and 


320 


THE  MILLER   OF  ANGIBAULT. 


mine,  between  friends,  is  as  great  an  enormity  as  to  say 
that  two  and  two  make  five." 

"  Then  I  am  rich  and  learned  !  "  returned  the  miller, 
"for  I  have  Rose's  heart,  and  you  will  talk  with  me 
every  day !  Did  not  I  tell  you,  M.  Lemor,  that  there 
would  be  a  miracle  for  me,  and  that  all  would  come 
right  ?  But  I  did  not  reckon  the  while  upon  Uncle  Ca- 
doche ! " 

"  What  makes  thee  dance  so,  alochon  f  "  said  Edward. 

"  My  child,"  answered  the  miller,  lifting  him  high  in 
his  arms,  "  while  throwing  my  nets,  I  have  caught,  in  the 
clearest  of  the  water,  a  little  angel,  who  has  brought  me 
happiness ;  and,  in  the  muddiest,  an  old  devil  of  an  un- 
de,  whom  I  shall  perhaps  be  able  to  get  out  of  purgatory ! " 


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